Patterns of Betrayal and Redemption: Part III
by Bald as Malak
Summary: Chapter 16: An Unexpected Ally. Another long period... sorry! One more unexpected ally joins Toxel's quest for his mother, the Exile. The circle is almost closed.
1. Chapter 1

**PATTERNS OF BETRAYAL AND REDEMPTION III**

**Chapter 1: Beginnings and Endings**

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**_Many thanks to Trillian as always for the excellent beta-reads_**

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**(Toxel). _The Sour Twi'lek_. Two days from Telos, approximately eleven years and a half after the fall of Kreia**

Perhaps I should be more frightened or nervous. I'm messing in affairs I'm pretty sure Revan would prefer left alone. Even worse, to escape my home, I stole Revan's personal ship, Mystery, which I then traded in for the rundown ship I fly now.

As I think about that trade, I have to laugh. I know the smugglers on Coruscant think they exploited this young man, but when Revan finds them, and he will, I expect they will change their minds.

I know that I can't count on Revan holding back just because it's me that's doing all this. He's never let his personal feelings interfere with his judgement yet, except maybe that one time with Bastila. I don't think even she would push him again.

Despite the risks, I'm can only find hope and excitement when I look inside myself. I've been preparing for this quest since I was six years old, hiding the faint hope in the farthest corners of my heart so that Revan would never learn of it. I got rather good at hiding stuff in my head, and I think it might serve me well if I need to fight other Force users, Sith or, though I hope not, Jedi.

But enough about that. You need to know why I'm on this horribly smelly ex-smuggler's freighter searching out my mother's former allies, and why I'm traveling with Atris who, like Revan, betrayed Xi Lan for some "grander" purpose. Xi Lan redeemed her later, Atris says, but when I ask her to tell me how my mother saved her, Atris refused to say.

So, let me start this third volume by telling you how I came to learn of my mother's fate, and why I started preparing for this journey when other children were worrying about making new friends at school or where they were going to play after dinner.

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**(Revan) One month after the fall of Kreia**

There is nothing so sweet as seeing one's loved-one after a long absence. Especially when she happens to be stunning, powerful, and covered only by thin robes that are clinging to her sweat-soaked body.

It is dusk on Tatooine, and the temperature has begun its rapid descent from blistering hot to achingly cold. The deep shadows of the hallway surrounding the courtyard cover me in darkness, and my will hides my presence. Inside the courtyard of her small estate, Bastila is practicing the Soresu form. It looks like she has been practicing for a long time.

Bastila is wearing a light set of deep-red robes that match the autumn hues of her Force aura and the colour of the double-bladed lightsaber I constructed for her so many years ago. Bastila's hair is tied up in a tight bun, exposing the beautiful lines of her neck and jaw. Her legs follow the compact circular foot movements of the defensive form, her blade weaving itself tightly around the edges of her body.

Her blade work has, I realize, improved immensely since the time I had departed so many years ago. She moves gracefully through the different patterns of Soresu, and then, to my surprise, switches to the acrobatic Ataru style. Her body seemed almost to fly as she contorts it in mid-air, leaping and twisting from strike to strike. As she moves into the advanced levels of the aggressive form, I realize that Bastila would be more than a match for me blade-to-blade right now.

I think for a moment about what has motivated her to improve her weapon skills so much, but such thoughts flee in the face of wonder I feel knowing that someone so beautiful has chosen me to share her life with.

I could watch Bastila practice forever, I think, but as the last rays of the sun slowly withdraw, she ends her exercises with a flourish, twirling her lightsaber around her head while doing a long, arching back flip that takes her high into the air. Just before she landed on the ground, her descent slows, and as she floats to the ground, she tucks up her legs into a meditation position. I can feel rather than see the small smile of satisfaction creep onto her face.

As she settles down into her meditation, I step out of the shadows. Keeping my mind blank, I move out of the shadows and approach her from behind.

"You were hard to find."

I intended my words to sound controlled and calm, but my voice comes out husky and breathless instead. I draw air into my lungs to try again, but the air explodes out without shaping as Bastila tackles me to the ground. Our bodies are pressed against each other so hard, it seemed that they are trying to merge. Wet, salty water slide by my lips and cheeks, and I find myself whispering shushing sounds into Bastila's ears until I realize that I am crying as much as she.

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**(Bastila)**

"I still can't believe you are back," I whisper, cupping his cheek in my hand. I have dreamt of my love often since he left, feeling bits of his emotions and experiences over the years through our connection.

_But all that was nothing compared to the feel of his warm body under my hands, the sweat of his body salty on my tongue, the feel of his seed deep inside of me, and the hope that we have made our own child this day._

"It's been so long."

Yesterday morning, before Revan had arrived, I had sent Toxel to visit one of the farms in the valley. During a break in our lovemaking, when Revan had gone to the get some water, I had comm'ed the farm to ask the owners to keep Toxel until tomorrow night. I hadn't seen Revan for years, and I wanted to spend some time with him before introducing him to Toxel. I wasn't ready to face the difficult questions that I knew Revan would raise regarding my impulsive, Force-inspired actions.

"Are you…," I ask, trying but failing to mask by uncertainty, my fear of being alone again. "Are you finished? Have you done what you needed to do?"

Revan sighs and pulls my naked body closer to his. Last night, we had dashed to the bedroom and had not slept a wink, trying to make up for the years we have spent apart in one night of desperate lovemaking. Now, the morning sun is streaming through the window, and with the day comes the weight of our joint and separate responsibilities to the galaxy.

"So you will leave me again?" I asked, trying to keep my voice strong, willing myself not to despair.

"No. Never again. Where I go, I want you by my side. Wherever you go, I will follow."

_Oh my heart sings to hear those words! _But my lips and mind will not cease poking into the uncertain future. "Are you giving up, then?"

"There is nothing more for me to do that I can't do here. Besides, I had to see that you were safe."

"Why?" He should be able to feel that over our bond, and we both know it.

"That, my love, is a difficult tale to tell." He sighs again, and I can feel his deep sadness. "I grow tired of fighting the galaxy's battles. The costs keep mounting, higher and higher, and yet the threats to the Republic never seem to end."

"And yet, you will keep trying."

"Yes." The silence stretches out.

"Did you at least settle your debt to Xi Lan and Malak?"

"Another day, Bastila," he says, reaching out and stroking my hair gently. His eyes, which have taken on the shine of distant stars when we talked about the galaxy, focus now just on me, and a warm smile unfolds on his face. "Wait, love, for a few days more. Let me enjoy this moment here, alone with you, an old-too-soon man with his too beautiful wife."

_Wife. Force, I like the sound of that. _I settle my head in his lap, letting my eyes close as he continues to play with my hair.

Somehow, I manage to keep at bay my own worries about what tomorrow will bring.

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**(Bastila) The next day**

I still am not sure how Revan will react when he learns about Toxel, but there is no avoiding it, so I keep to my regular training regime with my son.

Revan was outside, removing some luggage from his ship when Toxel arrives, but when he returns with the rest of his possessions, my love sees my young boy working in the courtyard with me.

I am teaching Toxel the second tier of the beginner Shii-Cho forms when Revan interrupts, quietly and politely introducing himself to Toxel. After that, Revan sits down and watches the rest of our practice from the shade of the one Wullin tree on the north side.

Revan doesn't say a word during the rest of the session and his mind is guarded more tightly that I have ever felt it. When the training session concludes, Revan congratulates Toxel on his fine progress and then takes my arm, gently but insistently pulling me towards our bedroom.

As enter the hallway of my home, I can feel his anger leaking through his shield. I have dreaded this moment for years but, with Revan's emotional control already slipping... I know that his reaction will be far worse than I had ever believed.

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"I can't believe you did that! How could you… how could you..." His mouth is open, but no more words come and then Revan growls and starts pacing furiously, like a caged boma beast but much more dangerous.

I have never seen Revan unable to find the words he needs.

A lamp beside Revan shatters, and he stops, looking at its remains in shock for a moment. Then his eyes narrow and I feel his mind dig into mine, bypassing my surprised defences to rip out the information he wants.

His gaze turns towards two brushes on my table. Made of a rare stone found only on Tatooine, they were one of the few purchases I have ever made purely for my own pleasure. A second later, they snap into several pieces before my eyes.

I have never seen Revan so angry, so wantonly destructive. It scares me, but a part of me responds to it as well. I long to clash with him, to test my strength against his even as another part of me wants to fall to his feet, and beg his forgiveness.

As I stand there, caught between two extremes, my favourite table mirror and chair follow my brushes into an early death.

Destroying my little loves seems to do nothing to calm Revan's anger. "She had everything taken away from her. Everything!" he yells at me, spittle flying from his mouth to burn on my face like acid. My table tumbles to the ground, its legs split and broken. "And you took her _child_?"

"Quiet," I yell back at him, bringing my face right against his, unable to control my own voice. "Toxel might hear you!"

"And so he should! Damn you, Bastila!" A piece of the exterior wall bursts outwards, letting in the hot, dry wind of the planet.

"She fell, Bastila." Revan continues, and now his voice is empty, desolate as Tatooine. "She fell and I killed her."

"You did what?" I can't believe it, I can't wrap my mind around what he has just said.

"She turned to the dark side, Bastila, for the same reason that you did," he says, his voice returning to the hot anger of before, his finger punching into my chest like the dagger his words have become. "She fell because someone had wronged her in such a fundamental way that the very foundation of her soul was compromised. I didn't know what that was, but I knew that I had no choice. I struck her down because I will not tolerate any more threats to the Republic."

And then I am flying across the room, my back slamming into the floor length mirror, the last object I treasure. It shows how much Revan is struggling to control his temper.

I feel his mind grapple at my walls again, no doubt searching for another item he can destroy, but this time I am more ready. My anger returns, and I seize upon his probe, using it to send a pulse of red heat back at him. He winces, his hand lifting to his temple.

_He doesn't understand, I have to make him understand! _A chair hurtles towards me, but it bursts into ashes before it reaches me. Another meets the same fate and then Revan's head is moving as if he is searching for another item.

_He's so mad now, he can't even sense his environment._

I walk towards him, calling all my power to me. If Revan isn't in control, I can't risk anything less. I feel him push at me, but I am quicker, sending him tumbling head over heels into the wall behind.

"Look at him, Revan," I say as I approach my enraged lover. "Look at him and you will understand."

Revan's eyes snapped to mine as he picks himself off the ground, and I see lust kindle in them, a yearning thrumming in tandem to mine, born of the desire to loose ourselves into pure power. My body responds, my aura a crackling inferno. All thoughts leave me, consumed by my roused passion.

He does not move as I near him, does not flinch as my lips part, and touch his. I lean into him, and he grabs me, his mouth crushed against mine for one stunning moment. And then I am pushed backwards, flopping awkwardly onto my back on the floor.

"That will not win this fight, Bastila," he says, his voice calm. But his eyes still burn across my body, revealing the lie behind his dispassion, I think. I try to pull him on top of me, but then a bucket of water, in which our Dantooine Fire Flash has been cooling, flies across the room and tips itself over my head.

"Damn you, Revan!" I sputter. Revan's face showed nothing, but his eyes seem to taunt me, reflecting my image back to me more clearly than should have been possible. My face is flushed, the lust and anger on it transforming even as I watch into embarrassment. My robes are plastered against my body, showing too much of one who is cast aside, vulnerable.

Wiping my hand across the face to clear it of the drops of water, and the sudden tears mixed within them, I call my anger back to me. It is more comfortable than the feelings evoked by the disposed harlot I see in my lover's gaze.

Jumping up, I point to the courtyard where Toxel still remains, his aura now reflecting his puzzlement at the Force currents swirling around our room.

"Look at Toxel," I hiss, still trying to keep my voice down. "Use the Force and look at him. Tell me that you don't see what I do. For Force's sake, Revan, I couldn't just leave him there... making jewellery! He's your child! "

"That is... not... physically… possible."

"Look at him!"

Revan's hand slashes between our bodies, as if he is cutting our bond. "There is no excuse that justifies your crime. None." Turning from me, he walks towards the door.

I wasn't going to let him walk away from me as if I didn't matter. I need to make him listen. I know I am right, I had to have been right. "My crime! You didn't have to kill her, Revan! Don't blame me for what you did! You could have left her alone, or helped her as you did me."

"No, Bastila. You killed her heart. I just finished off the empty corpse."

"You saved me, you could have saved her!"

"Did I save you, Bastila…? I'm not so sure now. Still, perhaps I should have taken her as you suggest, there in the heart of evil. Just as I did you on the Star Forge. After all, what would I have had to lose?"

"You wouldn't have dared," I gasp, my heart racing. It is a fear I had hidden from myself until now, that he would start again with his former lover, and leave me behind, alone.

"She wouldn't have had me," he shrugs.

_Is that regret I hear in his voice_? But I don't know, I can't tell and now he is turning back towards the door, clearly dismissing me again.

"She might have found her own way if you had left her alone, Revan. And if she didn't, so what? She's not nearly as powerful as we are. Together we would have been powerful enough to stop anything that she tried to do. You can't hate me for what I did. What you did was worse."

He stops, his anger flaring once more before he visibly composes himself.

"If you were anyone else, Bastila," he says, his voice calm, casually pleasant, as if he is addressing a stranger he has just met. "I would strip you of your power right now and devise some penance for you that would have you begging for mercy every day for the rest of your sorry life. But you are too powerful for such an easy resolution. So, before I figure out what to do with you, I'm going to leave here with Toxel and I'm going to explain to him what you and I have done to him and his mother. And then... well then we'll see. Maybe I'll mess around with your mind a bit too, like you did with Xi Lan's, until you're convinced that Hutts make good breeding partners."

It's too much. His face is too still, his voice too flat, his eyes too cold. "You promised you would stand by me, Revan, no matter what," I say, my voice cracking, barely a whisper.

Revan abandons me without a backward glance.

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**A week later**

I sit alone in my room, the scattered remains of meals littering the ground beside my bed. Despair has been my only companion for the last week; Revan and Toxel have disappeared.

I know what I did was wrong, I have always known, but that knowledge had been buried by the love I feel for Toxel and the signature of Revan that I see within him. I took Toxel, I admit to myself finally, because in the end I wasn't sure I would ever see Revan again.

_I wasn't sure if I would ever carry, and love, his child. _I had tried time and time again to see into the future, to find a vision that would promise a future together for Revan and I with a family, a home, in peace. But though I had seen images of the two of us laughing together, fighting foes side by side, I had never seen a hint that we might have children, that we might live beyond this war against the dark side.

Back when Revan had first left, I had thought that what we had was enough. But I had waited month after month for Revan to arrive on Re'cha, and he had never come, and I had begun to feel more and more alone, that feeling surging every time I spied upon Xi Lan and Toxel. A child whom I was more and more convinced was also Revan's.

_He has to show up_, I had told myself, _because he must have felt my need for him over our bond_. But he didn't.

And every day, I had watched Toxel waste away his talent, learning mundane things when he should have been learning to develop his power. And then, one day, I had seen it, the naked truth behind all the earlier hints.

On that day, Toxel had been sitting alone, bending over the parts of a droid that Xi Lan had given him to play around with. It was the focus of his gaze as he disassembled the pieces, the way his eyes narrowed as he looked over every wire and joint trying to figure out how they worked. It was there in how quickly he learned, in the creativity of the approaches he took to testing new configurations of the parts before him. He looked like Revan had on the _Ebon Hawk_ as he had worked on HK-47.

I had taken Toxel away that night, erasing the memory of his presence from the minds of Xi Lan and everyone else who knew of his existence. I had taken Toxel's memory of her from him. And then I had brought Toxel here, to Tatooine, where someone could hide indefinitely. Where my mother had died.

Everyday that Toxel had grown more adept and more powerful with the Force, I had told myself that I had made the right decision. Each time he had smiled at me or given me a hug, my heart had swelled and I told myself that I could give him more love than she could with that wound of hers. And as the Jedi had continued to die, I had told myself that only I could protect him from our mysterious enemy.

And I loved him as my own son.

Those self-deceptions, and my love for Toxel, had served me well, distracting me from the crime I had committed. Until now. I had been happy and I knew that Toxel had been too. Xi Lan didn't remember him, I told myself when necessary, and so she won't miss him.

I had never thought about how my actions might cost me the one other person I loved with all I had. Or, even worse, both of them.

I don't know what I will do. I keep hoping that they will come back. Besides, I am not yet ready to battle with Revan over Toxel.

There is one the thing about Revan, one part of him I fear the most. Everyone always focuses on Revan's power, on his control of the Force, and those are indeed formidable, but I think I can match him there, my power compensating for his greater skill. But those aspects of Revan are nothing compared to the power of his mind and will. It was his planning and determination that killed Malak, and won back my darkened heart. It was his ruthlessness and deviousness that secured his victory at Malachor V, over both the Mandalorians and those that were still faithful to the Republic, including Xi Lan.

Once Revan determines what he wants, he always finds a way to get it. Always.

_If he decides to take Toxel away from me now, if they both try to leave me forever, I doubt that there will be anything I can do to stop it. _

My mind calls up images of Toxel and Revan unbidden, and I feel my heart break at the thought that I might never see either of them again. It isn't bearable, I can't accept being alone again.

_I will not give up. I have to keep trying, I have to give it my all. It's the only way I can make Revan understand how important this is to me_. _I have to have the opportunity to make amends. I have to try, I have to do something. _

_A life without love is not worth living. Not for one such as I, who discovered within herself a lover and a mother when she left the Jedi Order. _

_Oh Revan, Toxel, _I project with the Force, _please come back. _

It is as if my plea has called them instantly to my side.

"Bastila," Revan says as he walks into the room, holding Toxel's hand in his own. Their faces are difficult to read, save that they both look determined, as if to face some great challenge.

_They have come to tell me that they are leaving me, forever._ I can't help it, my power flares as I prepare myself to battle for another woman's boy.

Revan hold his hand up, and his defences remain dormant. "Toxel, please tell her what you have to say."

Toxel's eyes are hidden from me, his head bowed to the ground. Then he sighs, and lifts his head slowly until his gray-blue eyes meet mine. I can't read them, can't tell what he will say. I can't tell if he still holds any love for me.

"Bastila," he starts and then he stops, and looks backwards at Revan. I moan involuntarily. _Oh Force, what will I do…?_

"Bastila, I… I forgive you."

I run to him and pick him up in my arms, crying, saying "I'm so sorry," over and over again as Toxel pats me awkwardly on the head, telling me "It's alright" just as often. And when I open my eyes up to look at Revan, his mouth shapes two words, "Me too."

I'm not sure if he means that he is sorry or if he is also forgiving me. It doesn't matter really. I know he will demand a price from me, one day, for what I have done. And I will pay it, gladly. I will do anything to keep my family.

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**(Revan)**

As I watch Bastila and Toxel hug and cry, I find my mind drifting back to the days Toxel and I had just spent together. That week we spent away from Bastila, after I found out what she had done, that was one of the most difficult times in my life. I can't imagine what it must have been like for Toxel.

I had taken him to a secluded area beside a beautiful oasis, one of only two on the whole planet. There were a few trees, with bark and leaves the color of the sea on Manaan. The water was reddish-brown, but tasted cool and clean. The whole area was surrounded by tall, glistening white sand dunes

We had eaten a simple meal, taken a swim, and then Toxel had slept. The next morning, just after breakfast, I told him the truth of his origins, what Bastila had done and, when he was ready, I restored his memory.

When he had understood what had been done to him, and who he was, he asked the question I dreaded, "When can I see my mother?"

I had stayed up all night, practicing ways to tell him that one terrible fact, trying to find a gentle way to break the news to him, but there was no way around the pain.

"I'm so sorry to have to tell you this. She's dead and it was I who killed her. I did not want to do it, but she had fallen to the dark side."

I was prepared for outrage, attacks, crying, screaming, but he did none of these things. He just looked at me for a long time, his eyes boring into mine. Then he walked over to the lakeshore and sat down on a rock. He had remained there for four days, not even acknowledging me when I put food beside him.

On the fifth day, I had woken up to the feel of a lightsaber purring near my neck.

It was Xi Lan's lightsaber, its blade silver and its handle a muted black like the clothes she had preferred. I had carried it in my bag, intending to give it to Toxel if he was ready. The energy in this one writhed along the edge of the blade, like the flares of a star.

I sat up quickly, my eyes open in wonder, even as the tip of the lightsaber unerringly followed the hollow of my neck.

"I should kill you," Toxel said, his voice flat, "and then Bastila."

Here was the moment I had been waiting for, so much longer than I had expected. The moment where Toxel, as young as he was, would choose his path. "But…?"

"But I..." he paused, his voice cocking to one side as if listening to a voice only he could hear. "My mum wouldn't want me to. And… I don't think that you are a bad man."

"Thank you."

"I still want to, though," he said. I marvelled at how composed his words were. He sounded like me, I realized, and I remembered Bastila's last words before I left her house.

I waited for him to ask me more about Xi Lan's death, but he surprised me again.

"Was this hers?" he asked, nodding towards the blade at my throat.

"Yes, but I think it has chosen you now."

"I think so too," Toxel had said, finally raising the lightsaber from my neck to consider its length. Like Xi Lan's other blade, it was shorter than normal, but it still seemed to dwarf the young boy who had inherited it. But then my Force stirred, and I saw a vision of Toxel as a young man, holding these two blades, and behind him, like a ghost, his mother, her hands joining his on the hilts.

"It's very beautiful," Toxel continued, pulling me out of the future, "even more than Bastila's."

"Seeing how it is responding to your touch, I would say that it has a special crystal in it, one that is tuned to your unique Force signature. Just as Bastila's lightsaber has one just for her."

"You mean, my mother made it for me?"

"I think she did, though she probably never knew it consciously." It was time for the next revelation, one more of too many surprises for a boy so young. "Xi Lan… your mother didn't know about you, Toxel. Bastila took away your mother's memory of you. Bastila should not have done that, and I will make her acknowledge and pay for her error.

"Xi Lan loved you very much Toxel. Even though she couldn't remember you, she knew that something very precious had been taken from her and she was always searching for it. That may have been the reason why she fell."

The young boy absorbed my words, his face still unnaturally calm. Then, the blade of the lightsaber contracted. Looking around, Toxel chose an old log to sit down on, one that I noticed was beyond the reach of my blade should I have drawn it.

"Tell me…" and then he started again when his voice cracked. "Tell me more about my mother."

I tried my best, though most of the memories I had were those given to me by Malak.

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That next night, I asked Toxel what he wanted to do. "Where would you like to go? I'm planning to create a new Jedi academy somewhere, though I have not chosen a planet yet. Would you like to stay with the other Jedi?"

"I would, but..." and I could see him wrestle with his thoughts for a moment, "what about Bastila?"

"I think, given what she's done to you, you owe her nothing."

Toxel stared off into space for a long while, his body still as silence. Though it was hard, I kept my mouth closed, letting him take his time. After a while, he walked over to his small bag, and pulled out the Xi Lan's lightsaber with the special crystal in it, bringing it back to the stone on which he had been sitting.

He sat with it for an hour, stroking the hilt in a way that felt like it should have been achingly familiar, but that I only remembered second-hand from Malak's memories of Xi Lan.

"She loves me," Toxel said finally. "Why did Bastila do this to me if she loves me?"

"I wish I could give you a good reason for what Bastila did. Maybe she was lonely and well... I shouldn't have left her alone for so long... But there could be many other reasons too. I don't know, Toxel," I sighed, "I'm sorry. What she did was wrong, very wrong. No matter what the reason."

I had theories, but I had been away so long, I wasn't sure if I knew the woman who now wore her body well enough to make an accurate guess. Besides, despite all that Bastila had done, I thought it should be her who told him why. If he ever let her.

As I sat there, musing about what else I should say, Toxel spoke, haltingly, "I can't help it. I hate Bastila, but I love her too. You killed my mother, but... my mother would want me..." The tears I had been waiting for all week started to flood his eyes, and wash down his face in torrents. "She wants me to stay with you, both of you, but I can't tell you how I know this. I don't... I don't..., I..." And then he finally broke down, sobbing uncontrollably while his body sunk in on itself, his breath coming in harsh barks only to be released in long, keening cries that filled the valley with anguish no young boy should have to bear.

All I could do was hold him until he fell asleep.

The next morning, Toxel asks me to take him "home," to Bastila's place.

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Toxel and Bastila have fallen asleep together on her bed. I am sitting on the bed, looking down upon them, unable to sleep as my mind picks away at this last week, and what I have learned. I have a new family, larger by one than I had expected, and yet it feels right, for all that is wrong with it.

Unbidden, a thought floats into my head. _The Force sometimes demands faith beyond logic. _I laugh as I consider these words, because faith is something I have never felt easy with. I prefer that things make sense.

Still, the deed is done, and my family, however battered and unusual it is, simply is what it is. I have to accept it, though its composition and history are more than a little unusual and dark.

Inevitably, my mind pulls me back Malachor V, where I had almost died at the end of Xi Lan's lightsabre. And I hear Bastila's words, the ones that have been echoing in the back of my mind since she said them, though I have ignored them until now.

_You didn't have to kill her, Revan!_ _Together we would have been powerful to stop anything that she tried to do._

There was, and still is, no adequate response I can make to her accusation, because Bastila is right. I could have backed off and let Xi Lan go. I could have found another way. I could have taken that risk because, together, Bastila and I are almost impossible to beat. It's not just that we are both so powerful. We are, but our true strength lies in how our skills complement each other so perfectly when it comes to battle. My strategy and her Battle Meditation. My control and her strength.

So why hadn't I given Xi Lan the chance to redeem herself? I open myself to the Force, trying to put all my thoughts and feelings behind me, seeking an answer beyond my self and all its flaws.

Almost immediately, I find myself reliving my battle with Xi Lan.

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**(Revan) Trayus Academy, the day that Kreia fell**

My sight is blurred by dripping sweat and my body aches, bruised and burned in too many places to count. In my hands, my lightsabre burns bright green and hot, bursting with life in contrast to the two cool, silver blades and calm face that wait for me three meters away.

Xi Lan and I are surrounded by the cold, barren walls of the Trayus Academy. The ancient darkness of this place, which my former self stirred to awareness as a means to corrupt Jedi, seems to press against the very pores of my body. I can feel it searching for pathways into my soul, scenting perhaps my earlier fall, but long ago I placed doorways and guardians at each juncture to protect myself against such intrusions.

The same can not be said of our opponent. Her movements are easy, and though her face and clothes are dirty with the ash-grey dust of this place, Xi Lan's face is alit with a smile, as if inviting me to share in the fun. The lightness of her grin is jarring, a mote of light that belies the keening cries inside her, the emptiness that seems to swallow sound, light, hope, even the dark energies of the Academy itself. Xi Lan's wound has grown much in power since the time I rescued her from the _Harbinger_.

Around Xi Lan, my power perceives dark, translucent tentacles of black and red hunger which seem to caress the nearby whorls of the Force. Each touch of life and anti-life sends waves of wild energy outwards, the dark grey walls and floors rippling with racing dark snakes and riotous colors. These mad pulses sweep past and through me, traveling onwards, beyond the Academy into distances I can not calculate.

I have always known intellectually that an echo existed in Xi Lan as well as Malachor V, but the reality of it now quivers inescapably in the very particles of my being.

Xi Lan strikes again and soon I'm backpedalling, trying to keep my distance from the incessant attacks of my former lover. I can barely see, my eyes stinging from the sweat that drips into them. My arm and leg burn where Xi Lan's sabres have already cut me, but I hardly notice them, the sensations buried under the thundering beating of my heart and the sick feeling of fear in my belly.

I duck under a horizontal slash, and rotate my blade upwards towards Xi Lan's torso, but she slams her foot into my hand. As I struggle to maintain control of my blade, the hilt of her other lightsabre slams into my skull. I see stars as I roll back, frantically trying to escape before she can follow up. Jumping to my feet, I bring my blade up, ready to meet her next attacks, but Xi Lan is not there as I had anticipated.

Standing where I had left her, Xi Lan has planted her lightsabers into the ground, their silver light highlighting the hills and valleys of her face. There is great fatigue there, and little lines that speak of past laughter, and worry. But anger and arrogance predominate now.

As I study her face, and catch my breath, Xi Lan's hands lift leisurely towards the back of her neck, gathering up her long braid of hair.

"I could have killed you three times already, Revan," she says as she wraps her hair around her neck. Her words are light, casual, as if we've just sparring rather than fighting for our lives. "I'm not even sure why I didn't, save that I think he would want us to do this properly."

"Who?"

She doesn't answer, and I take advantage of the break to plot my next moves. Xi Lan doesn't look at me until she finishes winding her braid around her neck, tucking the end of it under the necklaces she wore.

"If you don't know, Revan," she says finally, her voice getting harder with each word, "then you don't deserve to know. Now, fight me with everything you have, or I will hunt down that bitch of yours and carve some designs into her body that will make yours look pretty."

I don't even think about it. Reaching out with the Force, I slam Xi Lan's mouth shut. "No, you won't," I say through gritted teeth, my hold on her jaw tightening with each word.

_Look_, her voice speaks into my mind,_ into my Sith eyes, Revan and tell me whether I'm telling the truth. _

"Touch her and..."

_And what?_ _The choice is simple. Kill me or die well, and she will be safe. Die poorly and so will she. Decide_."

I squeeze even harder, seeking to crush those words out of Xi Lan's mouth, but then she breaks my hold and her blades fly at me again.

-----------------------------------

&.

**Tatooine, present time**

I couldn't hold onto that scene. My blood was too hot, my body tensed for battle. No matter what Bastila has done, even with all the anger I feel towards her, any threat towards her rouses in me the most primal defensive reaction.

And yet, as my anger dissipates into the clear starry vista above me, I find myself shaking my head, though I don't know why. There is something false about this conclusion, something too pat. It's too… easy to accept that I killed Xi Lan to protect Bastila.

I go over my memories of that moment again, forcing myself to look at it for the first time with dispassion. After a while, I realize that Xi Lan's threat may have been a bluff, a ploy by my former lover to make me angry.

_And if that's the case, why?_

Had she wanted to test Kreia's boast, in which my former Master and partner had called Xi Lan her "greatest student ever?" Had Xi Lan wanted to die, perhaps because of the confusion and heartache of all the betrayals and losses? Or was there another reason?

My mind spirals as I consider the many possible answers to this question, until they threaten to overwhelm me, but underlying everything is a growing sense of falseness which becomes harder and harder to ignore.

Using Jedi meditation techniques that I have not used in ages, I lull my mind into the space where thoughts become quiet whispers that form the background to the vibrant symphony that is life. And when I reach that state, I realize that I have been avoiding the original question, namely why I had chosen to kill Xi Lan rather than let her go and seek Bastila's help.

So I empty my mind again, waiting this time until my thoughts disappear altogether, until I am nothingness. And when I'm finally free of all that I am, until I am nothing more than a part of the Force, I am swept back to my battle with Xi Lan, even as a small voice in my head whispers one word.

_Pride._

-----------------------------------

&.

**Trayus Academy, the day that Kreia fell**

Gathering my will, I rush Xi Lan once again, flinging several stones at her with the Force while I strike with my blade. Xi Lan is unfazed, deftly ducking under the rocks so that they collide and shatter even as her blades guide my strike harmlessly above her. She follows with two quick strikes at my ankles, but I lift my body so that her weapons score the ground underneath.

I try to swing my blade at Xi Lan again, but she moves into the swing, stopping it before it can gain momentum, and then she elbows me in the ribs with her near arm, so that I stumble backwards. I desperately jab my lightsabre at her torso, holding her off while I try to catch my breath.

Xi Lan smiles, but her eyes mock me. She stops, letting me back away for a few moments. As I gasp in air, Xi Lan starts to count quietly. I ready my blade, trying to push aside the fear that once again threatens my concentration. _How could she have become so powerful? _

When Xi Lan reaches ten, she starts walking towards me again.

I turn towards my greatest strength, my control of the Force. I try again to stun Xi Lan, but she eases my power aside. I try to push her, but she moves out of the way. I send images of the floor swaying and rocking to an earthquake, but her mind absorbs the illusion until it melts into nothingness. Faster and faster, I use every trick I know, but each time Xi Lan avoids them.

Though I can tell she struggles to do it, Xi Lan starts walking slowly towards me. Backing away to keep my distance, I try something I have never done before, combine my mental attacks. Stunning blasts of energy come at the same time as I invoke buried fears within her. Illusions to deceive her senses are buried in pulses of Force that interrupted communications between brain and body. And lightning accompanies Force pushes to batter her body. Nothing seems to work, not fully, and yet I can see her slowing down, the grin on her face faltering even as my confidence starts to return.

I continue, getting better each moment at combining my attacks. Every second, they come faster and in more complex arrangements, but Xi Lan keeps coming until, finally, she stops, only three metres from me. Glistening streaks of sweat now decorate her face, and her eyes no longer track this realm, instead tracing attacks and movements that follow the pathways of the Force. And then she sways and I know that I am finally winning.

I redouble my efforts, pushing harder and harder on Xi Lan's mind with my mental attacks. She tries to move forward again, but soon she is stumbling backwards instead. I keep at it, pulling on reserves and skills I never knew I have, until I finally I get what I am looking for—she starts blocking my mental attacks instead of evading them. My victory is almost achieved.

I keep attacking, still increasing the speed of my strikes, using Force-inspired instincts to varying them so that they won't fall into a pattern that she can recognize or anticipate. And then, I add another attack, a broad-based attack on her shields, pitting her raw strength against mine. She resists, but I can feel her waver, grow still. She's unable to get away from me now and so I take the next step. Risking it all, I put everything I had into one big thrust towards the center of her mind, trying to bury her with pure Force strength.

I expect to face resistance, to batter at her shields until she weakens and I overwhelm her, but instead I meet nothing but emptiness. All of sudden, I'm in a limitless, black space, and at its centre a howling vortex that is drawing me in. The maelstrom is lit by thousands of tiny bright lights that circle the spinning core's edge. Not knowing how to stop myself, I hurtle towards what I guess is the wound within her.

There is nothing I can do. Xi Lan has won.

I prepare myself for death, but then the lights move towards me, more and more of them butting against me until I stop falling. Floating in the empty space, I try to understand the nature of these entities that have saved me, but there is little I can discern. They glow softly, feel benign, and they chose to save my life.

"Stop her, Revan," a gravel-rough voice says. And then more and more voices are urging me to save myself, to get out, to prevail, to triumph.

_Are these the souls of those she killed?_ I wonder, but I still can't find my way out. I'm flailing in the emptiness, but then I feel a sudden push, and suddenly, I'm in my body, swaying as I am overwhelmed by the renewed sensations of pain, sour air, and the hum of a lightsabre pressed against my throat.

"Don't let her win," a deep, rough voice says in my ear, growing weaker with each word. It is the same entity that first spoke to me in Xi Lan's mind. "No matter...what..." and then the voice was gone and all I'm left with is the sting of Xi Lan's burning blade at my neck.

"I can feel him on you," Xi Lan hisses. "Toxel was speaking to you. Why?"

"I don't know." And I don't, but now I remember him from Malak's memories. Toxel had been that Mandalorian Champion on Dxun, the one who had begun a duel with Xi Lan over some ridge. My previous self had interrupted the fight, leaping into the space between them as I swept them apart with my power.

I wonder why he is trying to save me now and I guess Xi Lan is wondering the same thing because she starts swearing, "You damned, hairy, stubborn oaf!" And then she pauses and it seems like every part of her body is taut, quivering, ready to explode. I can feel her internal struggle, the violence in her warring with... something else.

Xi Lan's breathing starts to slow, and she starts talking again, but to herself not me. The despair in her words matches the fatigue I feel. "If he..., no... I should kill him, but... no, not if he's there."

_Why is this Mandalorian so important to her? _

Xi Lan's eyes glaze over, and I think about moving away, but before I can move her attention snaps back to me. "Toxel must want you to live, Revan, and though I have no idea why, I will let you live if you give me your word that I can walk out of here. If you can do that, you need not die."

_I can't allow that, but dying now won't stop her. _I have one more ploy I can do, a trick I have practiced since long ago but one I have never wanted to carry out.

"Only if you promise to leave Bastila alone, Xi Lan," I say, choosing my words very carefully. "Will you promise that?" When Xi Lan nods, I continue, "I'll put my lightsaber on the ground here, then step back. I would appreciate it if you would leave it at the entrance of the Academy. It's dangerous here." Then I let my face express all the anger I feel towards her.

"But know this, _Sith_. If you walk out this door without surrendering, I will find you again. And next time, the outcome will not be the same. I promise you that."

Xi Lan considers me, her tongue licking her lips hesitantly. It's almost if she's tasting my words to test their veracity. Finally, she nods. "I would have it no other way."

Moving as slowly as I can with my tired body, I bend down and place my weapon to my side. Then, I move backwards from it. Xi Lan's blade never leaves my heart as she matches my movement, until she is standing over my lightsabre. She puts one foot on top of it, holding it down so that I can not summon it.

Xi Lan's eyes lock onto the blade as she gestures casually me towards the door. I move slowly away and she doesn't bother tracking my movements; instead, the tips of her fingers start gently stroking the hilt of my weapon. "This is even more beautiful than the one you gave Malak," she says, with an almost wistful sadness in her voice. "But I suppose you don't remember the day the three of us parted company on Dantooine."

She is wrong, for I do have Malak's recollections of that day, but she is also right, because the lightsaber at her feet is something I am very proud of. The hilt is all green, but of so many hues and textures that it almost seems to writhe like the undergrowth of the forests on the Endor moon. Even the feel of the handle is different, made of a material firm, easy to grip, and yet slightly soft and smelling of a forest just after a rain.

Xi Lan continues to hover over my blade, almost as if she is afraid to pick it up.

_She has to pick up the blade_. As subtly as I can, using a technique I have saved until today, I send a suggestion through the ground and into her mind through her feet. _Examine the blade from all angles._

Hesitantly, Xi Lan picks up the weapon, and begins turning it over in her hand, until finally it is pointed in the direction I need. Reaching out with my mind, I turn it on.

Xi Lan doesn't say a word as she collapses to the ground, her heart pierced by my blade. She doesn't need to, her face says it all as she turns it towards me with the last remains of her life.

_Betrayer_.

The fact that I never actually gave my word to let her go is cold comfort.

-----------------------------------

&.

As I shake myself free from the Force-inspired vision, I find that the insight it gave me is as uncomfortable as any I have faced. _You killed Xi Lan_ _because she beat you in a fair fight. She bested you, and you couldn't stand it. You couldn't tolerate having someone out there whom you couldn't control on your own. So you killed her, and told yourself it was for the Republic._

No one had ever beaten me face-to-face before. No one, or at least no person that I could find within my fragmented and borrowed memories. The only person who had come close was Malak. And then, in the Trayus Academy, Xi Lan had won, had defeated me in a face-to-face duel at Malachor V, where I had once betrayed her.

It just wasn't something I had been prepared to deal with, the prospect of another in the galaxy who could best me in a fight. And so I had made sure that my invincibility remained the truth, by tricking Xi Lan into letting down her guard and then killing her. After all, I had told myself then, "All is fair in love and war."

But the real lesson of that crucial moment, the one I had ignored, denied until now, was that I had taken Xi Lan's life not because of the threat she posed, although that had been considerable, but because I had been unwilling to admit to, and live in, a world where I could not handle my enemies by myself.

The sad thing is that, intellectually, I recognize the importance of the others' contributions. The Dark Side brings quick and hard power, which makes an individual stronger. The Light Side is less powerful, but it encourages and facilitates cooperation and coordination. With the Light Side, a group working together can match strengths and cover weaknesses in ways that no Dark Side Jedi can beat. That is why betrayal is the greatest weapon that a dark Jedi can use against the light, because it, along with other less powerful tricks, can break the group that is otherwise unbeatable.

That was how Malak had almost beaten my group, by taking Bastila and turning her against us. How had I forgotten that? Why had I become one who had to fight alone? What was I scared of? And, had something happened to Xi Lan's group that had undermined her, caused her to give in to the dark forces that slithered in these ancient halls?

Though I did not seek the answer from it, the Force responds immediately, as if it had been waiting for my questions, and I'm swept back into the dark, musty hallways of Trayus Academy.

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&.

I wake up, shaking the stars from my eyes, trying to remember why I'm on this cold, ash-dusty floor. And then I remember. As the light in Xi Lan's eyes had died, I had been knocked unconscious by a hard blow from behind.

I look around quickly, but whoever hit me is gone. So is, I realize, Xi Lan's body. Where she had lain, all that remains is a pool of drying blood from which a wide trail of the same color leaves the room. From the looks of it, I guess that someone has dragged her body away.

Groaning, I force my body up and follow the trail of blood. As the distance increases, the brown swath thins, becomes almost indistinguishable, but there is still enough to follow. Coming out the main doors of the Academy, the now sporadic marks of blood lead me to the right. Around a corner, I hear the sound of a shovel digging dirt, and I soon see the red-black robes of the Xi Lan's Miraluka companion. As I approach, I wonder where she was during my fight with Xi Lan, but I'm pretty sure that she will not answer my questions.

"I wanted to give her a decent burial," the woman says as I approach, her voice surprisingly deep, resonating. "Xi Lan deserved that." I can feel her study me, though she continues to face forward toward the stony, earthen mound she is patting down with her shovel. "I hope that your skull does not suffer too much."

I shrug. "It was not necessary for you to hit me. I would have helped you."

"Do you really think, Revan, you were deserving of my trust?"

We have never met, but I'm not surprised she knows my name. The fact that my heart is still beating testifies to her knowledge of who I am and the purpose behind my murder of Xi Lan. Still, her words hurt, though the Miraluka is a stranger. They echo too closely my own self recriminations, but there is nothing I can do about them. I don't regret my choice. In the years since the Star Forge, I have come to accept who I am: a man with too much power who will do what it takes to preserve the Republic and stop its enemies.

I wait for the Miraluka to offer her name, but she just continues her shovelling. As she does, I probe the hole in the ground with last dregs of my strength, seeking any sign of life in the body buried below. There is nothing, though the body below is covered in multiple necklaces and other assorted jewellery.

"I had no choice," I say to the Miraluka then.

"There is always choice." The Miraluka pulls out Xi Lan's two lightsabres from her belt. She holds them in her hand for a few moments, as if weighing them. Then, to my surprise, she hands them to me and, without another word, she walks away.

A few minutes later, I hear the _Ebon Hawk_ take off nearby. In it, I sense three lifeforms: two males, one human and one alien, and the female Miraluka. I also sense several fresh corpses and I thank the Force that my group had not faced such losses at the Star Forge.

Turning away from the grave of my former lover, and perhaps the most formidable lightsabre wielder the galaxy has known for a long time, I walk slowly towards my ship.

It is time to go home, to Bastila.

-----------------------------------

&.

As I shook my mind free of that vision, I realize that the answer to my failure is simply that I just don't like the idea of depending on others. I never have. I worry about someone being hurt. I worry about someone failing at a task that maybe I could have done better. I worry about being betrayed. I worry that what happened to Xi Lan will happen to me, that I will lose someone or some people that I care about.

I don't know what I would do if I lost Bastila.

Relying on others is just something I'm not comfortable with, no matter what my logic says about the power of the Light Side. I have always believed, deep down inside, that I am powerful enough to face any foe by myself. And in one sense, that is still true, because though Xi Lan was better than me in combat, in the end I won the battle. But in another sense it was not true, because in killing her, I had failed to meet my original objective, which was to protect my former lover and repay my debt to her. And it had cost Toxel his mother.

Though it is only know that I understand the depth of my failure, some part of me must have known all along, and sought judgement. That was why, without conscious intention but guided by the Force, I had brought Xi Lan's lightsabre to this oasis. I had provided the opportunity for Toxel to judge me.

I don't think I had ever expected Toxel to forgive me. How he managed to do it is a mystery to me. I think part of me had hoped he would kill me, so that I didn't have to face the almost impossible choice between forgiving Bastila for her terrible crime or living my life without her.

But now that Toxel has absolved Bastila and I for our roles in his mother's death, I know that I have to forgive Bastila too. And I have to forgive myself.

Bastila's and my crimes are equal in scope, wrought of too much power and not enough sense. We need to be together, I realize now, to both support and restrain each other. And we need others too, less powerful but more grounded, who can remind us from time to time what it's like to be human. Because, no matter how human we look, Bastila and I are more power than anything else.

Besides, though I had forgotten it in my anger, I promised Bastila that I would not leave her side again. And though my record has been far from perfect when it comes to promises made to those close to me, I really want to keep this one.

And now that I understand my failure, I need to share it. Carefully, so that I don't wake up Toxel, I reach out and tug on Bastila's hand. Her eyes open immediately and I nod my head towards the balcony.

We talk out there until the light of dawn brushes the dunes with fire.

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&.

**(Toxel). _The Sour Twi'lek_. One day from Telos, approximately ten and a half years after the fall of Kreia and Xi Lan.**

One of the most intense aspects of my power, and sometimes the most confusing, is my ability to see deeply into the hearts, thoughts, and experiences of others, or at least as they were for a short time. For one so young, I have experienced things that would fill another's lifetime. I have experienced the itch of Bastila's power when it was leashed by the Jedi Code, the shivering ecstasy of its release when she fell, and the uncertainty of its transformation into what she is now. I have probed Revan's thoughts, both of his old and new self. I have fallen with him to the dark side and delved into his redemption—including his rescue of Bastila and the murder of one who was once closer to him than any brother. I have felt Bastila and Revan's passion and their power, and how important they are to each other.

Some people think that it's the fact that only Bastila can match Revan's power that keeps them together. They are only half right. The real gifts that Bastila and Revan share are the little human interludes: laughter shared, pain revealed, passion joined. In these moments, they help each other remember what it means to be human, so that they are not so overwhelmed by their own power and destiny.

If Revan had been on Re'cha, he would have stopped Bastila from kidnapping me. If Bastila had been on Malachor V, it is likely my mother would still be alive.

But for all that I have learned about Revan, Bastila, Malak, and all the others whose tales I have told so far, the insights I treasure the most are those of my mother. How her wound felt to her. The moments at the hidden pool on Dantooine with Revan and Malak, including the first time they made love. The horror of war and the miracle of the Kellippi, that small animal on Dxun who stayed with my mother and helped her keep her humanity. The incredible, quiet gift that she put in each piece of jewellery she made.

There is so much more I want to learn.

I want to know for sure who my true father really is. Can you imagine it, that Revan might be my father? It seems impossible, especially given what I have been able to piece together about my mother's life before she had me. At the same time, beyond all common sense, there is a hidden corner in both Revan and Bastila in which they believe it is true, though I don't think Revan acknowledges it to himself.

But there is a much greater mystery that draws me forward. And the best way to tell you about that is to tell you about the gift I received and how it led me to start preparing for this trip nine years ago.

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&.

**(Revan) Tatooine. Toxel's sixth birthday, approximately one year and a half after the fall of Kreia and Xi Lan. **

The package arrived two days before Toxel's sixth birthday. Inside the package, there was a small book and on top of that, a single folded page of paper. Opening up the paper, I found a short note written in impeccable calligraphy:

_Revan. _

_Xi Lan left this book with me before she went to Malachor V. She didn't say why she entrusted it to me, but I think she wanted someone to know of her story if she should die. Though I have kept it for myself until know, I have recently learned that her son is in your care. _

_I do not ask why Xi Lan's son is living with Bastila and you nor why it appeared that Xi Lan was unaware of his existence. For some questions, it is better to let the Force choose whether they should be answered. But I think this book is something that Toxel, and he alone, should see. I trust that you will give it to him untouched. Xi Lan deserves that and so does Toxel._

_I hope I am making the right decision in trusting you, Revan. I suppose I have no choice really, since trying to sneak the book to the boy would be impossible while he is under the care of the two most powerful Force users of this last millennium._

_Atris._

_P.S. No, I will not join your new Jedi Council. _

I had begun secretly to pull together a new Jedi Council on Tatooine from the few Jedi who had survived. How Atris had found out was beyond me, since I hadn't approached her yet.

_Well_, I thought as I folded the note and placed it in my pocket, _that will save me the trouble of tracking Atris down and asking_.

-----------------------------------

&.

"Toxel, I have something here for you."

The boy slowly let his dejarik pieces sink to the table below, as did I. Playing dejarik in the air and without a board was an exercise I had developed to improve Toxel's intellect and Force ability. Though I hadn't told him, it helped me in the same way. I think he knew anyway, on some instinctive level.

He was a very smart boy, Toxel, but his intelligence operated in a different way from mine. Where I was thorough, analyzing all the possibilities, Toxel grasped things instinctually, sometimes almost instantaneously. However, when I asked him to explain his conclusions, Toxel would often struggle.

As the last of Toxel's pieces settled itself on the table, I pulled a book from my bag and handed it to him. "This was your mother's. It was just delivered."

He took the book from my hand reverently, turning it from side to side slowly as if trying to memorize each inch of its surface. Then, he let his fingers slide slowly over the cover. There was something so achingly familiar about watching Toxel do that, a feeling that was deep in my bones but absent from my memory.

Which made it easy to figure out. Searching the memories that Malak had given me, I confirmed what I already knew. It was something that his mother would have done.

"Thank you," he said finally, and without another word, he left the room, no doubt to open the book in private.

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&.

**(Toxel) _The Sour Twi'lek_. One day from Telos, approximately eleven years and a half after the fall of Kreia**

So that tells you about how I received my mother's diary, which has been crucial to me for compiling much of her history.

What Revan didn't know was that Atris had left me a note in that book, one that somehow only appeared when I had read through the entire book. As I had turned the last page, my eyes were drawn to a small slit in the back cover, one that I hadn't seen though I had looked over the book many times before. In that slit, I found a note from Atris. I carry that note even today, in a locket I carry around my neck. Let me tell you what it says.

_You do not know me, but heed my words. I do not believe that your mother is dead, though I can not be sure. If she is alive, I do not know where she is, how she fares, and whether she is a dark Jedi, a Jedi, or something else. I fear for the worse._

_I can't find her on my own. If you would help me search for her, train hard! Train very hard and then find me on Coruscant on your fifteenth birthday. Do not arrive a day sooner! _

_If you are worthy, then no matter where you are on Coruscant, there I will find you and we will discover the truth together. If you are not worthy, you will never find me, though you search every day until you die._

_I know that Revan has already told you that he killed your mother. He could not do otherwise. Do not turn away from him, though I know it will be very hard at times. Keep this in your mind. Revan has always acted for one supreme goal, the welfare of the Republic. So when he acted against your mother, he probably had good reasons for it. Finally, there are things that you can learn from Bastila and him that no one else can show you. You will need it._

_However, do not tell him about this letter. He has betrayed Xi Lan two times too many. If he felt she was a danger to his precious Republic, he would do it again in the blink of an eye. Do not give him that opportunity._

_Finally, let me be honest with you. I betrayed your mother once too, for what I also thought were the best of reasons. She found out about it later, and had the chance to kill me as I deserved. She spared me instead, and so saved me. _

_Perhaps I should fill this letter with reasons why you should trust me, but I think you already know. Right now, your hands are touching your mother's book, which I held against my body for more than a year. I think that if you are truly your mother's son, your fingers even now can sense the weight of my soul, and the honesty of my intentions. _

_I will await your arrival on Coruscant. Do not disappoint me._

_Atris._

Since the day I uncovered this note, I have planned for the moment when I would set out for Coruscant, to discover what I could of my mother's fate, and to learn as much about her as I could. If she was dead, I wanted to know who she was before she fell. If she is alive, I want to know how to redeem her, as Revan did Bastila.

Well, maybe not exactly in the same way.

You must wonder why I am so willing to trust this fallen Jedi Master, Atris. I do, often, and the answer for me is always the same. In the book, on every single page, as if Atris had written them in bold black ink, is her regret for her actions, her love for my mother, and her desire to set things right.

I wonder sometimes if the proud woman who travels with me today knows how deeply she has shared such an intimate part of her soul with me. I'm not sure if I will ever tell her.

But it was enough for me to trust her, to leave the safety of my home because of her words. It is enough to go against the will of the man who is, biologically related to me or not, both my father and the most terrifying man in the galaxy. It is enough that I'm willing to break the heart of Bastila, my adopted mother.

And then there is my mother. There is so much to learn about her, so much more than I have discovered so far. For example, did she really fall, and if so, why? Was it really Bastila's fault? My instincts tell me that it was not, but I could be wrong. I wonder what I will do if I find out it truly was her kidnapping that made my mother turn to the Dark Side.

Who was my mother? I know much about her from the memories I have lived and the materials I have accessed, but there is so much more I don't know or understand. For example, I have tried repeatedly to find out more about my mother's people, who called themselves the Forgotten People or Wan Ren, and their planet, Wan Di.

The Republic has very few records on either and the Jedi archives are silent. Whatever information had once existed is now gone. I can't even find the hyperspace coordinates of my mother's former planet.

So, knowing nothing about my mother's people, I have no way to determine how they get pregnant and have children. And until I do, it will be impossible for me to figure out who my father really is.

Revan and Bastila never had DNA tests done on me, but I have. The results were spectacularly… inconclusive. There are some similarities between Revan and I, just enough to hint at some kind of connection between us, but not enough for him to be my father. It's almost as if we are family, but more distantly related. According to my mother's diary, she thinks Toxel is my father. If so, could he have been related to Revan in some way?

There truly is so little known about my origins, and my mother's.

And then there are the Mandalorian Wise Women, and the inexplicable words they spoke to Toxel when he asked them about my mother.

"_She is Feynar, Champion, as you suspected," they had said. "She is of those who were lost to us a thousand years ago. She carries the Child long anticipated, born of power, love and betrayal. Through her and the Child, the Mandalorians can once again be what they once were, if they so choose. Or, perhaps, you Mandalorians have forgotten what you once were, maybe willingly. Perhaps you will continue to choose war and conquest over your ancient service."_

What story or history were the Wise Women referring to, what is a "Feynar," and do these women's words still have any power now that my mother is dead?

I have researched the word "Feynar" on every database that I could access, but I have discovered absolutely nothing about it. The Mandalorian histories also say nothing about a time when they were not conquerors, nor talk about any master save the recently departed Exar Kun. So who were the Wise Women referring to, what was my role in all this, and why would a broken, defeated people be interested in my mother and I? And, which version of my mother were they looking for: the Jedi who was broken, the woman who was a simple jeweller, or the warrior who chased away a great evil, and then became one herself?

Or, perhaps it is the possibility that Revan is truly my father. Considering the fact that Bastila and he still have no children of their own, that could explain the Mandalorian Wise Women's interest in my mother and I.

But those answers feels wrong to me, though I do not know why. Still, I trust my instincts, which have grown much under Revan's and Bastila's tutelage.

And that is why I am here with Atris, in this foul smelling ship, on my way to Telos.

It's a simple mission, really. First, find my mother's former companions. This task is slightly complicated by the fact that each of Xi Lan's former allies is a powerful person in his or her own right and each has chosen to hide after Malachor V. Second, convince those that I find that I am indeed Xi Lan's son and that they should trust Atris, one of my mother's former foes, and I with information they have not shared with any other.

And then, third, locate my mother. Could my mother really be alive as Atris says? Can you imagine that? If so, where had she been hiding all this time and how has she evaded Revan's notice? The possibility still amazes me. It still amazes me that I've been able to conceal what I know from the powerful man who raised me.

The whole thing frightens me too. Imagine asking yourself these questions, secretly, every day since you were six years old. Did my mother fall to the Dark Side? Is she still alive? If so, and if she fell, what should I do?

I won't know until I find the ones who survived Malachor V. One was an alien, and so is likely Bao-Dur. Another is Visas. The third is a human, which likely means either Atton or Disciple. Of those three, Bao-Dur is the one who was sighted most recently, five years ago on Telos, where I am headed now.

I hope that he is still there. And I hope that he is willing to tell me about what happened at Malachor and before. Because there is another question to be resolved. If my mother fell, did her companions join her?


	2. Chapter 2

**I WILL LIVE: PATTERNS OF BETRAYAL AND REDEMPTION III**

**Chapter 2**

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**A/N**:

...Thanks to Trillian for the beta-read!

...I suck when it comes to choosing chapter titles, so I'm keeping them simple from now on.

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**(Toxel). Hope, Capital City of Telos.**

We arrived on Telos two days ago. The small and very new space port is located outside the capital city, Hope, the first and so far only major settlement on the planet's surface

More than three quarters of the planet has now been terraformed back to life, though many of the restored zones were still fragile. For that reason, the Republic and the Telosian government are still restricting the flow settlers to the surface. Even visitors like myself usually need to wait a few weeks before we can go to the surface, but Atris arranged things so that we could descent immediately. She wouldn't tell me how she did it.

The areas around the new capital are breathtakingly beautiful. Green and blue foliage predominate, but flecks of red and orange can be seen moving everywhere, the signs of the restored Telosian national symbol: the Jek-Lek bird. Right now, from my hotel room I can see a herd of Kloo roaming in the nearby fields, though they are hard to track because of their natural green and blue camouflage. The sturdy six-legged beasts, I have been told, are key to the production of Telosian ale, because the grains used in the alcohol will only grow with liberal applications of Kloo manure.

On our first night here, Atris found someone in the records that she thought we should meet. His name is Captain Grenn, and he knew my mother when she was on Telos. Atris would not meet with him, though she didn't say why, so I met Grenn alone yesterday.

He was both helpful and not. Apparently, his staff followed my mother and her companions the whole time they were on the Telos Space Station. Even better, he had one of the two Jedi practice swords that my mother used as weapons on her first visit. Captain Grenn says that he found it in a trash bin during an inspection of the former Telos Jedi Academy, Atris' home before my mother redeemed her. The weapon itself is now useless, bent out of shape by a hard blow.

Afterwards, I asked Atris what she knew about the broken weapon, and my mother's visit to her former home. Atris said that she had never seen the "Exile" wearing it. I waited for her to say something more, but she just walked off, her mind even more guarded that usual.

But I do not need Atris' input. I have enough information from Captain Grenn and impressions from Xi Lan's sword to piece together what happened to her on Telos, at least until she reached Atris' hideaway in the ice.

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**Xi Lan, Telos**

Even through the distorting, blue haze of the Force cage, he looks scruffy, but though his face is dejected, tired, I can sense his satisfaction too. _You can't get rid of me that easily_, his body says, though his mouth does not move.

Or perhaps it's my imagination.

We were arrested as soon as we landed on the Telos Space Station, our ship and weapons impounded almost before we could utter a word. The officer in charge, a Lieutenant Grenn, told us that he was investigating the destruction of Peragus.

I can't find it in myself to blame Grenn for putting us here. All the signs seem to point to us, and the death of a mining colony and all its inhabitants surely justifies strong actions. But I can't stop thinking about escaping, for I doubt any records remain that can prove our innocence. Our story would certainly not sound very convincing in front of a judge.

"They were all dead, your honour, before we could do anything. Where were we during this whole time? Well, Kreia and I were unconscious for the whole time, and Atton was locked up in a detention cell…"

And, as I look upon Atton now, I am reminded that we are not so innocent after all, even if all the miners were already dead before we destroyed the colony.

So, this means that we have to figure out a way to get out of here, because sooner or later that Sith Lord is going to find and kill us, then there might be no one left to fight them. Besides, if he succeeds, I will never find out what was taken from me. I will never get it back.

I can feel the Sith Lord searching for me even now, though I don't know why I can sense this. Perhaps he was at Malachor?

I look towards Kreia, thinking to ask her if she has any ideas about how to escape, but she speaks before I can open my mouth. "Someone is coming," she says. A few seconds later, the door opens and a man walks through.

He starts talking about collecting a bounty and all that, and Atton talks back, trying, I guess to make the man angry so that he'll attack Atton and not me. I don't understand why Atton would do this for me, but there is no time to think about it, for the man makes a mistake and all the cages open at the same time.

Or perhaps he was encouraged to make a mistake, because I feel a certain sense of satisfaction from Kreia as we all leap towards the man.

Instinctively, I dive forwards, rolling on the ground towards our attacker as his shot flies above me. Then Atton is on top of our attacker, his feet flying at the assassin's torso in a way that shows Atton has formal training in hand-to-hand combat. As our attacker blocks Atton's blow, I kick his right knee, which gives way like rotten wood. As the man tumbles down, Atton drives his foot into the man's neck.

As the man gurgles, Kreia rushes forward, pushing Atton and me aside so that she can put her hands on the dying assassin's neck. I can feel her probe, barely, as she tries to enter his mind, but his soul flees faster than she can pursue and then he is there no longer.

Kreia swears under her breath as Atton offers his hand to me. I ignore Atton's hand though. I'm trying to sort out what happened during that brief fight. Something is missing, something is wrong, but I can't put my finger on it. Atton, tired of waiting for me to accept his hand, reaches down and pulls me up by himself.

I scowl at him, annoyed because his touch has thrown me off my train of thought, but he grins, his eyebrow raised, challenging me to say something. Behind him, Kreia is scowling at us both, her face looking as annoyed as I feel. Ignoring them both, I start to brush the dirt of my clothes but stop when the doors to the cell open to admit Lieutenant Grenn and two ensigns, their guns levelled at us.

Not surprisingly, Grenn doesn't believe us when I tell him what happened, but when they discover that the man on the floor is not one of the Telos Security Force's guards, he is more willing to listen. As I repeat the story of what happened, one of the ensigns confirms that the assassin's DNA does not match that of any guard on the TSF's personnel databank.

Once Grenn is convinced that we haven't killed one of his men, he tells us that he has arranged other accommodations for us. We will still be guarded, but inside a regular apartment. Perhaps we won't have to escape after all.

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**That night**

I've been trying to meditate for the last two hours, digging deep in myself to find the soothing calm I had once known as Jedi, but it seems impossible now. The place where I used to find inspiration is now home to the voices of tens of thousands souls that, though quieter now than in the early days after Malachor V, still murmur constantly. And in the background, there is the impossible sound of emptiness, of a void that draws everything to it to be consumed, waiting restlessly for its release. It is a silence louder than any crowd can be, a wasteland more terrible than even the worst of battlefields.

I am just returning to the surface of my mind, once again tossed out of the confusing morass that is woven into my soul, when I hear them talking. At first, the words are nonsense, but as my mind shakes itself free from the cobwebs, I begin to understand the words slipping into my ears.

"…served in the war…" Atton is saying, "…well, Jedi are supposed to be tough. Capable." I feel him shrug his shoulders.

_How does he know about that?_ _Did I tell him? _I start to poke around in my memory to see if I ever told him, but then Kreia is speaking.

"Yes... and what are they without the Force? Take the greatest Jedi Knight, strip away the Force, and what remains? They rely on it, depend on it, more than they know. Watch as one tries to hold a blaster, as they try to hold a lightsabre, and you will see nothing more than a woman - or a man. A child."

_Is that what happened to me? _I had always thought it was the voices that made it impossible for me to fight, the competing instincts that froze me in place. _Could Kreia be right? If I regain the ability to control the Force, to make it do my will rather than its own, will I remember how to fight?_

The question doesn't feel right to me. I feel that there was something I should know, something about myself or the Force, but I can't grasp it. Whatever insight or understanding I seek, it is not available to me now.

_Still, it's worth trying, to rebuild my ability with the Force. To wrest some kind of control over my own destiny. _

I have been using the Force, a bit more and more everyday, but control still largely eludes me. Most of the time, I feel that there is another presence—a person, a conscious awareness in or of the Force, or something else—that directs when and how the Force flows through me. It's like… it's like I'm a flashlight in the hand of another, chasing shadows but blinded by my own light.

That's why I've been meditating. I'm trying to find the place in my body where this other entity exists. So far, I've had no luck.

_How easy it would be too hide among the thousands of dead within me._

"Such a loss of ability," Atton's voice pulls my attention back to the conversation, "for a Jedi, it seems so extreme." His voice sounds honest, but there is a hint of wrongness about it too, as if he already has answers to the questions he is posing.

"She has been gone from war some time." Kreia responds, her voice thoughtful, surprisingly gentle for a moment. Then it turns harder. "It is conflict that strengthens us... and isolation that weakens us, erodes us. Add to that that she turned away from war, did all that she could to forget it, and the last piece clicks into place."

_Conflict. Why do so many find such value in it? What about patience, the building a home or a family? What about craftsmanship?_ My fingers, as they often does when my emotions threaten to overwhelm me, steals up to the large earring of my right ear, stroking the large split stone heart held in two strong hands. _What about love?_

Though she can't see my hand, hidden as it is on the other side of my face, I think Kreia senses my growing awareness. "But we have spoken enough of this – and we do her a disservice by not speaking of this while she is present."

As surreptitiously as I can, I bring my hand down, placing it back in my lap. I don't think Atton notices that I have listened to the conversation, but I feel Kreia's eyes on me as I once again try to sink my attention into my body.

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**(Xi Lan) Three days later. In the Ithorian shuttle, _Rebirth_**

As we descend towards the planet of Telos, I marvel at the vibrant green and the desolate grey patches that combine together on the surface like some half-finished Panarian quilt. I can sense, barely, the little flickering sparks of life on the surface, and the subtle, barely visible dance of life among them. The planet is, as the Ithorians said, out of balance, still alive and yet slowly consuming itself. I wish I could see what they see, the paths by which healing can be achieved.

I can't believe how much we accomplished on this last three days on the Telos Space Station. Certainly much more than I had planned that first day, when I had first accepted that simple mission from the Ithorian, _Chodo Habat_

_Who would have thought that delivering a droid would lead me to taking on the Exchange and the Czerka Corporation?_

My head still hurts where one soldier hit me with the hilt of his vibrosword, and I'm still limping on my right leg from a blaster wound. Both injuries were inflicted by a group of mercenaries attacking the Ithorian compound. Apparently, the Czerka Corporation had sent them there after Atton, Kreia, and I had frustrated their plans for taking over the Telos restoration effort. I hope that the TSF and the Ithorians have enough evidence to stop Czerka, at least here.

Either way, for one who vowed never to involve herself in galactic politics ever again, I feel surprisingly pleased with the outcomes. Well, except for one.

Somehow, Atton is still with us, despite my decision to leave him at the Telos Space Station. I still feel uneasy about his participation in this venture. I don't understand why he wants to help me. Us.

I can't deny that he's very useful to have around. Whether picking locks, scouting ahead, stealing into people's pockets, or protecting us with his blasters, there is no doubt that Atton has made our tasks and fights much easier than they could have been. Maybe we would be dead without him.

But none of that answers his reasons for coming. He certainly doesn't strike me as the idealistic type.

I have spent hours the past few nights trying to figure out what he could be gaining from all this, asking myself, _What game is he playing?_ But the answers I seek are not providing themselves to me.

I feel his eyes turn towards me now, almost as if he can detect my thoughts, and instinctively I bury my thoughts. When he turns his head back to the viewscreen in front, I try to probe him to see if he's Force sensitive. But I'm not strong enough to tell.

_Frack. If he's Force sensitive too…_ It scares me, the possibility that he might be even more dangerous, that he might be a Sith or some other rogue power.

Force user or not, Atton is still a dangerous man and I have had enough of those in my life.

Still, when I'm not worried about him, he's fun to have around. He's able to crack jokes at almost anything. I often find it hard to keep up with his quick mind, struggling to follow the dry, sarcastic observations that seem to pop out of his mouth at random times. Sometimes, I only get the joke a minute later, laughing after Atton has already given up on me. Each time, he shakes his head and mumbles, "Jedi."

Yesterday, I think I caught Kreia nodding her head when he said that. For an hour after that, I was mortified, saying nothing and avoiding their eyes, until Atton said something that made Kreia laugh. Her laughter exploded out of her before she restrained it, and she had to bend over for a couple of minutes before she could control herself. The surprised look on her face had been too comic for me to resist, and I had laughed too. I pretended as best I could that I was responding to his joke, and not her expression.

After she had recovered herself, Kreia gave Atton a long look. He didn't make another joke that day, but he gave me a small smile and a wink when he thought Kreia wasn't looking. I think he felt that he had defended me.

The ship starts yanking back and forth, pulling me to the present. I see flashes of light passing by our front viewport, and then the ship shakes violently and we are suddenly diving towards a cliff. Atton pulls hard on the control stick, and flips a switch on the consol that gives the ship just enough extra power that we bounce off the top of the plateau instead. And then, before I can grab hold of something, we crash into the ground and I'm flung against the wall and know no more.

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All around me I feel burning heat and my ears are filled with the sounds of crackling fires. I can't open my eyes, can't move and I'm starting to make my peace so that I'm ready to move on, but then someone is picking my boneless body off the ground and carrying me away.

_Like a log rescued from a fire. _The image of myself as a long piece of wrinkled wood springs into my mind and I feel myself giggle. It's so unlike me, and I struggle to remember where I am and why I can't see but then I'm put down onto something soft, cool and my mind slips into the shadows of unconsciousness again.

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I feel something a little cool and rough rubbing at my face. I open my eyes, and then close them quickly against the seemingly overwhelming brightness.

"Good to have you back, General," says a low, melodious voice. The voice is gentle, a haven, and instinctively I find myself trying to manoeuvre my lying body closer to the voice's source. But a hand places itself on my shoulder, holding me in place.

"Easy now," the man says. "You survived one spectacular crash. Lucky I was here to pull you and your friends out of that shuttle or you'd be more than a little crispy."

_Why am I suddenly surrounded by people who like to joke?_

"But it's only fair," my rescuer continues. "I owe you more than one, General." I remember now our ship being hit by something and crashing onto the surface. And then his specific words crash through the haze in my skull, demanding my attention until I pick out one from among them and am burned by it. It is like the burning coal that one juggles from hand to hand. _General_.

"Who are you," I ask as I open my eyes. Surprisingly, my voice is authoritative, demanding, as if I'm suddenly the General he has called me.

The first image that imprints itself on my brain is that of a strong, lean head that is equally haloed by sharp horns and the light of the sun. Tattoos cover his face, marking him as an Iridonian.

_I should recognize him, _I realize, _but I don't_. My brows draw together in puzzlement and the corners of his mouth curl into a small, soft smile. He clearly recognizes my predicament and I instinctively turn away, trying to cover up my embarrassment.

"You must be in shock from the crash," he says. He lifts me up like I hardly weigh anything at all. When I'm standing, the Iridonian lets me go, though he hovers near me while I work on steadying myself.

"You have to expect some long term memory loss from that," the man continues, nodding towards something behind me. I turn, and twenty meters away is our broken ship. All that is left of it is a blackened shell and smoking embers. Near me, Atton and Kreia are lying on the grass, still unconscious. The Force tells me that they are only slightly injured.

Perhaps because he thinks I'm ignoring him, or for another reason I don't understand, our rescuer turns his conversation to a little sensor ball that is hovering nearby. "Too bad she's not a droid, huh?"

And then the little droid beeps an answer, which seems to indicate that it understands. That's unusual for a droid its size.

"We can't all be that lucky," the Iridonian continues, turning his gaze back towards me. "I'll humour you, General. I was one of the Iridonian mechanic corps." His voice turns sarcastic, but of a nature that invites me to laugh with him instead of taking it personally. "I can see how you'd forget me, being that I was the only one at Malachor."

_Malachor_. The word turns my blood cold. I have not heard it for years, and I haven't missed it.

An image wraps itself over my eyes, and I find myself back on the bridge of my ship, in the thick of our battle against the Mandalorians around Malachor V.

Around me is the smell of smoke and the cries of the technicians and crew who are trying to both run the ship and put out the small fires around the bridge. Most of my mind is spread across the whole fleet, somehow touching the crew of the fleet, guiding our actions so that we fight as one. The other part is listening to the gentle, calm words of a new technician.

It is so hard to follow what he is saying, but I hear the words "secret weapon" and "last resort." Even as the man stops speaking, another of the old, decrepit ships in my group is destroyed, the wails of its crew quickly muffled by the cold folds of space.

We are being overwhelmed, just as Revan had planned, but Revan's surprise attack is not coming, and our trap has been turned against us. It is unlikely that any of us will leave this battlefield alive.

I feel a pull on my arm, and I remember the technician. We speak some more about this weapon, but time is speeding up now, in what I recognize is memory, and that the weapon is activated and almost every being I'm touching, Republic or Mandalorian, dies. But this time, there is no emptiness of space to take away their screams, only a hunger more dreadful than anything born of the dark side. And I will not let that void consume them, so I cradle all those dead to me, and then wall myself off, us, and the hunger, from the world.

As I start falling, seeking forgetful oblivion, I see on the face of the Iridonian technician a pale reflection of the horror that I feel, but that disappears into a shout of pain as a beam shears through his arm.

But now that same arm is wrapping itself around me, its flesh replaces by a bright blue light that prevents me from tumbling back into the lush green floor of this weeping planet.

"I… remember you," The words sound silly to me when I'm leaning towards the ground, a falling tree held up only by this Iridonian's artificial arm.

The Iridonian pulls me gently back to an upright position, and then holds me while I regain my balance. When I think I can stand on my own, I nod to him, and then step back away from his grip.

I open my mouth, but he speaks before I can figure out what I should say. "Don't think too hard," he says, and I find it so hard to match his flowing, almost musical voice to the creator of that deadly weapon at Malachor V. "I'd rather not talk about the war if we could. We all went through some tough times after Malachor, and maybe we all did a little forgetting."

I nod to him, still unsure of what I should say or do, but then I hear a groan to my left. Atton is sitting on the ground, holding his head. I walk over to him, looking him over for injuries. He seems to be okay, so I pull him to his feet, puzzled by his searching look as I do so. Then Kreia also stirs, and I move over to help her rise too.

It is clear that the three of us are still feeling a little dazed from our crash, so I suggest that we have something to eat before planning what we should do next. Bao-Dur pulls out some small ration bars, and we all sit down to eat them.

I drift in and out of the conversation that follows, letting Atton do most of the talking while I try my best not to stare at the Iridonian. Every time I glance over at him, I see two people overlapping, one wrapped in military discipline and quivering zeal, the other relaxed, with full lips that seem permanently curved into a small smile.

_Why, then, do I feel such disquiet from him?_

Kreia catches me looking at the Iridonian and frowns slightly. I turn my head away, and will myself to concentrate on the scenery around us. On this part of the planet, the surface it is beautiful. The grasses are deep and green, the wind soft and warm and yet, everything is too silent, too still.

"It's the cannocks," Bao-Dur says and I wonder how he knows what puzzles me, especially since my face is turned away from him. "They are vicious, wide-jawed predators that the Ithorians brought from Dxun to control the herbivore population. Well, something was needed to keep the cannock population in check too, but nothing was done because the Czerka Corporation took over this area. So, the cannocks ate all the herbivores and now they are wandering around, eating anything they can catch, including themselves and us." The light tone in the Iridonian's voice fades with each word, replaced by a quiet anger that fits surprisingly well on a man who had seemed so gentle moments before.

"Without the Ithorians to maintain the accelerated ecosystem's balance," Bao-Dur continues, "everything here is falling apart."

"Well, there's nothing that we can do about that," Atton jumps in, and I hear the relief in his tone as he continues. "It's time to move on. Look, umm… thanks for pulling us out of that fire, but we've got business to attend to, so if you'll excuse us…" Standing up, Atton offers his hand to me, and I take it. I offer mine in turn to Kreia, but she just smirks at me, and stands up by herself. I don't say anything when she uses the Force to steady herself.

"Thank you," I say to Bao-Dur, holding out my hand to him.

"And where are you going," Bao-Dur asks. "What brought you down to this place… and what's so important that you're willing to risk the ire of the TSF and the Czerka Corporation?"

"We're searching for our ship," I say. Atton frowns at me. Atton has said that he can crack and read the shield grid himself, but Chodo Habat steered me towards Bao-Dur and I trust the Ithorian's advice. "It was stolen from the Telos Space Station and the records seem to indicate that it came down to the surface, but we don't know where."

"So the satellites can't detect it," Bao-Dur says, his hand coming to his chin, "which means that it has to be either underground or under some kind of cloaking device. Either way, there should be a record of where it entered the shield grid."

"But there wasn't."

"Well, if it came through the shields, I can find it. Any ship coming through the shield causes a fluctuation in the power relays that I should be able to pinpoint. We just have to get to one of the terminals and I'll find your ship for you."

"Good," I say before Atton can say anything. "Then let's go."

"Before we go," Bao-Dur says as I start to walk off, "there's something I should warn you about. I had a little run-in with Czerka earlier that involved them putting me in a force cage. I managed to escape during an electrical malfunction. Since then, I've managed to outrun them, but they are still looking for me."

"Just the trouble we need," Atton chimes in, his voice drawling, "some crazy Zabrak with a squad of mercs on his tail."

"Why, can't handle a few mercs? Don't worry," Bao-Dur holds up his glowing arm when Atton looks like he's going to say something else. "I can do the heavy lifting. Besides, there's no way you're going to slice into the shield network without me."

I can tell that Atton wants to argue that last statement, but then he glances at me and I say nothing. He's an indifferent hacker, and we both know it. Like it or not, we need Bao-Dur.

When the silence stretches out, Bao-Dur chips in again. "Just leave it to me," he says.

"Do you have any weapons," I ask, hoping to settle the matter. When the Iridonian says that he doesn't, we open our bags. At the end, Bao-Dur is armed with a partial set of Republic armour and a decently effective blaster.

As we set out, my eyes continue to flick towards the alien. The memories press less intensely on my mind now and, though I'm not particular when it comes to the shape of a man, I do find the Zabrak's rugged features and gentle eyes as pleasing to look at as Atton's lean lines.

_Frack, Xi Lan. Since when did you become so easily turned by a pretty face? This is not the kind of distractions I need when I'm fleeing a bunch of Sith Lords and trying to find something I was made to forget about that was stolen by a Force user I don't remember._

Still, I find that my eyes continue to be drawn back to Bao-Dur. I realize a few minutes later that it's because, in a distant way, Bao-Dur reminds me of my old friend, Toxel. I chuckle to myself as I recall some of our times together.

_And then there was that night when we got drunk together…_ I remember talking to him the next morning, his rugged face close to mine, the rough feel of his skin under my…

It feels like my skull is suddenly trying to squeeze my brain, so hard that I find it hard to see, think, walk.

A hand touches my shoulder and I look up. Atton is beside me, his face and eyes soft and concerned, probably because I'm bent over with my head in my hands and my eyes squeezed shut. But as I straighten out, the humour that is his shield slides back over his eyes.

"I know the Zabrak smells, but try to hang in there. I think we're close to a beach where there'll be a stronger breeze." Bao-Dur chuckles behind Atton, showing no sign of rancour or embarrassment. Kreia, I notice, has continued walking, though her pace has slowed.

I plaster the best fake smile I can onto my face and wave the two men ahead. They don't look convinced, but I start walking again so they turn to follow.

The rhythm of our walking soothes the pain in my head and after a while I can think again. I try to remember what I was thinking about before the headache struck, but I don't remember, so I put it aside, focusing on rubbing my aching temples and following what seems to be an ever expanding set of companions. Though I want to deny the instinct that flashes in my head, I realize to my chagrin that Bao-Dur will not be the last person to join our ragged group.

_We were supposed to be down to two by now, but now there are four of us instead. It feels like… it feels like that time when Revan and Malak were gathering Jedi for the Mandalorian War._

It's not a comforting thought.

&.

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**Xi Lan. Two days later on the plateau outside the Telos Academy**

It seems that my path is destined to be marked by battle and destruction.

Our new shuttle, which we rescued from the underground complex after fighting our way through several patrols of Czerka Corp mercenaries on the surface and groups of attack droids in the complex, is behind me, another smoking ruin. This time, we were shot down by one of the HK-50 droids as we were trying to land on this icy plateau. Luckily, Atton was able to land us more or less safely.

Ten metres from Atton, Kreia, and I are three HK-50 droids, who, like the droid we destroyed on Peragus, want to collect me for some bounty prize. Also like their counterpart, they are incredibly arrogant.

I'm not in the mood for threats. I'm dirty, tired, my muscles ache, Bao-Dur is injured and needs attention and… there is something around here that is irritating me. Some scent in the air or in the Force that reminds me of something I should be familiar with, something both sweet and sour. And also a hint of strangeness, of something… off.

Whatever it is, it's buzzing around the edges of my mind like the mosquitoes on Dxun.

"We are not coming with you," I shout, tired of trying to reason with these metallic would-be-bounty hunters.

"Aggrieved statement: Then we shall have to inflict enough pain so that you change your mind, sentient."

The three of them lift their weapons at the same time, even as a surge of energy crackles through me and surges towards them. Their shots go wild as the Force alters the electrical currents flowing through their body, causing them to twitch.

I jump forward as Atton and Kreia pepper the droids with blaster fire. One to the right falls to their shots even as I slam both of my weapons into the neck of the middle droid. Its neck snaps, hissing and sparking, but one of my cylinders bends too, broken by the force of my blow. I throw it to the side as I rush towards the next droid.

The third droid is taking his time as I rush towards him, trying, I think, to ensure that he hits me. And I'm hoping to get to him before he does because I don't have a lightsabre to deflect his shot. I'm too late, though, because the droid fires while I'm still three metres away.

My body reacts by instinct, as it used to do when I wielded lightsabres, and I wince, expecting pain from my hand or something else from the blaster burn, but even before I've completed the motion, the droid's shot cuts into its own chassis, deflected by my hand.

The droid is not seriously injured, because its armour absorbed most of the impact, but it hesitates, and I do too. What has just happened, I think we both wonder. Is it really possible to deflect energy with just one's hand?

As we stand there stunned, a freeze frame of a battle that might hang on a wall someday, Atton and Kreia finish off the droid with their blasters.

"You are indeed growing stronger," Kreia says as she approaches me, Atton by her side.

"How did I do that?" No one at the Jedi Academy had ever told me this was possible, not even in theory.

"It is a technique that has existed for ages, but one that is rarely used now and never taught," Kreia says, her face turned towards me, a small smile on her lips. "Deflecting blasters with one's body is much less reliable than using a lightsabre, especially given the specialized forms and crystals that can increase the blade's power. And so, it was decided long ago that it would not be taught, to discourage those who might opt to choose another weapon besides a lightsabre."

"So can anyone do it?" I ask as Atton and I rifle through the remains of the droids for supplies and weapons. Kreia never bothers to help us, instead preferring to "stand guard." I used to think that she did this to avoid bending her old body, but I have since learned that her body is just as supple and strong as my own.

"Not anyone, of course. But if you are a Jedi, and have been taught, you should be able to do it, though many struggle to become proficient in this technique as a mode of defence. Very few do it by instinct, as you just did, but those who do find that it can almost as effective as a lightsabre."

A memory surface in my mind, a remnant from my time as a Jedi. In that memory, I am training to deflect blasters, and it comes to me that I used to do this often, much more so than the average Jedi. Perhaps it was all that extra effort that opened me to this technique.

"Come on," Atton says, "we have to find out where we're going, so that we can Bao-Dur somewhere warm and safe."

I feel a slight warmth return to my face, a little side blessing from the embarrassment I feel at having forgotten about Bao-Dur in my desire to figure out a new power. I feel Kreia's eyes on me, gauging my reaction and the blush deepens, though I try to make it go away.

Willing myself to focus, I extend out my senses, trying to find some hint of where we should go. "There's some kind of door nearby, only fifty or so meters away. Come on, let's grab Bao-Dur and get ourselves over there." Bending down, I quickly tuck the bent sword into my belt. I will look at it later, when we are inside, to see if it can be salvaged.

Kreia won't help us pick the Iridonian up, which means that Atton and I have a tough time at first, because Bao-Dur's body is limp, bending between us so that our grip is awkward. Ten metres later, I am even more tired, and also hot. I feel Kreia watching me, waiting for me to do something, or… _maybe she's waiting for me to figure something out_.

From there, the answer is easy and I smack my head. "Hold up a sec, Atton." Closing my eyes, I try to imagine that the Force creates a hand. Slowly, hesitantly, I stretch out my senses towards Bao-Dur, until it feels like I'm brushing up against his body. My connection to him is tenuous, like I'm a light wind playing along the edges of his skin. I try to ease this breath-like Force so that it's flowing under rather than over him. Then, carefully, not wanting to lose my hold on the Force or him, I try to imagine the wind becomes stronger, steadier, extending itself under all of Bao-Dur's body. When I feel that I'm ready, I imagine the wind blowing upwards, lifting his body.

I almost lose my concentration when he actually rises, but I manage to hold on. I guess I had not really expected this to work.

I begin to sweat, the water freezing on my brow almost before it emerges from the skin. I ignore the feeling, keeping my focus on the task. It is not easy, but my meditation over the last week helps, as do the long hours spent doing the detail work for my jewellery.

Bao-Dur's body is floating, as if on a stiff board though there is nothing supporting it save my Force and Atton's hands. "Help me push him," I tell Atton, which he does, and we walk towards the door I sensed earlier. Atton and Bao-Dur go first, and I follow, stepping in Atton's footprints, which is easier than making my own trial. Behind me, I hear the footsteps of Kreia.

It takes a while before we reach the door, and my legs are shaking from the exertion of making my way through the deep snow and holding up Bao-Dur at the same time. The door is old, much older than the civilization that Malak's fleet wiped off this planet during the Jedi Civil War. There is a panel on the frame that, after shrugging his shoulders and whispering something under his breath, Atton slaps with his hand. A whining sound starts from behind the door, and a minute later the door opens to reveal an elevator, which is surprisingly clean. But then, perhaps it shouldn't be surprising. This is, after all, where we think our stolen ship was taken.

Atton looks inside the elevator, checking for possible traps. "Seems okay," he says after a short while. Gesturing for me to hold my place, he steps inside. Nothing happens, so I push Bao-Dur's body inside and Kreia follows.

As soon as we are all in, the elevator closes and begins to descend. As Kreia and Atton ready their weapons, I lower Bao-Dur's body as gently as I can onto the floor, and then pull out my one functioning practice sword.

The door opens.

In front of me stand three Echani maidens. They are so perfectly immobile, and their faces and hair are as white and stiff as the clothes they wear. So cold is their gaze and so unmoved by the movements of the universe do they seem that they are like sculptures of ice to me. I feel the need to stop and gaze at them, perhaps until the cold of the polar region creeps into my soul and renders me like them.

"Lay down your weapons and you shall not be harmed." The words uttered by the Echani in the centre are surprisingly warm compared to scene before me, and yet they are as cold as any I have heard since the Masters' words banished me from the Jedi. They remind me of war, of the necessary orders that I and my fellow officers used to give when we sent men and women to fight knowing that they would die for some distant but necessary strategic objective that Revan had set.

I don't know how to respond to their demand. On the one hand, I sense no malice from them, and yet, there is no other feeling either, nothing that would comfort me, tell me that my friends and I will be alright in their care.

"I will not warn you again," the centre maiden says, "Drop your weapons, or we shall take them from you." Finally, I see a sign of warmth. It's not in the maiden's eyes, her tone, or posture, but simply in the warm cloud that emits from her mouth as she speaks. Somehow that wakes me up from the stupor I have stumbled into in their presence.

"Do as they say..." Kreia says. "I sense we will come to no harm. The loss of your weapons shall be a temporary thing only - and it is necessary. There is much to be gained here... without violence."

"Of course, you are right, Kreia. Here they are," I say, handing my weapons to the centre maiden, the only one who has spoken. Her eyebrow arches when I hand her the broken cylinder that had served my left hand for so short a time. I hesitate to let go for a moment, waiting for her to laugh at me, to poke fun at my pathetic sword, and I start to smile shyly in response. But she says nothing, does not smile or react in any way. She only waits silently for me to let go of this bar of durasteel that I cling to so pathetically.

_Will I become like this too, _I wonder as I let the broken thing go, _if I stay here too long?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Patterns of Betrayal and Redemption**

**Chapter 3**

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**A/N: **To my horror at 4AM this morning, I woke up realizing that I had forgotten to thank Trillian for her **wonderful beta-reads** of this chapter and the one after. Her comments sparked off some crucial additions, changes, and her keen grammar eye helped immensely too. Many thanks my overseas friend!

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**(Toxel) Hope, Telos**

When Atris and I arrived here month ago, I had been full of hope. I had thought that, at least, I would have found some hints about where one or more of the survivors of the _Ebon Hawk_ could be found, especially Bao-Dur, about whom Atris said this planet was a second home. But I have discovered nothing more since Captain Grenn gave me the broken practice sword. And Atris can not, or will not, aid me further.

There is only one path remaining, and that leads to Telos Academy.

I've already been trying to find a way into it for two weeks, but every path seems blocked. The site, I discovered two weeks ago, is closely guarded by some of the best Republic technology available, including the best automatic laser defences available. In fact, it's been whispered to me, some of the technology there may be even more advanced than anything the Republic has. Those people point at shield that surrounds it in particular. That shield prevents any entry from air or ground. Even underground.

Even if Bao-Dur isn't at the Academy now, it's likely he had some hand in the construction of the shield.

There are rumours of treasure hunters who have braved the defences, but none about those who have succeeded. It seems that trying to plunder the last great trove of Jedi artifacts and teachings is dangerous indeed.

Each time I've asked Atris about ideas for how to enter her old home, she's simply told me that she has tried many times but found no way to enter. And each time she's said this, she's let down her mental walls for a moment, just enough for me to see that she wasn't lying.

This morning, when I went to look for Atris again I found that she had disappeared. I've been looking for her everywhere, finally ending my search here on _The Sour Twi'lek_, even though the Force already told me that the ship is empty. I should head back to the hotel now, but I'm too tired, and too dejected to marshal the effort needed to return to my comfortable bed. For this night, at least, I will rest here tonight.

But I can't sleep. My mind won't give up trying to find ways to breach the security around Atris' old home. Ignoring my protests for sleep to think about the problem, it keeps going over all the possible plans over and over again, as if repetition will somehow make one work.

Finally, I give up trying to sleep. I sigh as I consider the fatigue I'm going to be feel later. Again. For the thousandth time in the last twenty-four hours, and the first time ever, I find myself wishing I had some of Revan's overwhelming intellect, the ability to dissect a problem and find the impossible solution. _But I don't have it, and I never will_. _And maybe I should stop… _ I pause, trying to capture the half-formed thought, wresting it out of the thick haze in my mind. _Maybe I should stop trying to solve it like him. _

I want to smack my head, or howl in frustration. I've been trying to dissect the problem piece by piece, looking for the unseen, genius solution that will bypass the obstacles. But that's not my strength; for me it's the leap of instinct, the solution that pops into the head out of nowhere, and fully constructed. Even for me, it's not an easy path of thinking to trust, but it's the one I need now. Taking a deep breath, I try to relax myself, quieting down the side of me that is pushing for a thought-out solution.

_And what do my instincts tell me now? _I keep breathing, letting myself sink into the quiet space between thoughts, trying to let the ideas come as they may. _Make my choice. Just make a choice. _

_So… what's my choice? Go now, and hope that I find a way through, or die trying. Or stay here, never able to take the next step in my quest, stopped before I can begin. Besides, if I'm going to enter the Academy, I need to do it quick, because if Revan and Bastila have decided to track me than I have no doubt they will find me soon. _

_So, stop sitting on the fence and choose! I will…_

I don't need to complete the thought, because I'm already out of my bed, my feet walking the body towards the cargo bay while my hands pull clothes over my head.

"Whoever is protecting the Academy put a lot of thought into that security system." Atris' voice is hard, filled with scorn it seems for my capabilities. Or perhaps she is just mocking my intelligence, given my decision to approach the deadly Academy without a plan. "There are defences at that site which have been designed specifically to keep Sith, and by extension you as well, out. You'll never be able to penetrate it and any ship that you take near it will be shot down."

"Then I'll set down far from it and walk."

"A full day's walk or more through hip-deep snow and winds that will strip the flesh off your bones. And what awaits you at the end? An impenetrable shield that many other resourceful and experienced people have failed to penetrate." And then her voice becomes softer, slightly pleading. "Don't you think I have tried myself? There have been times when I wanted to see my old home, to look upon it and know that I…" Then her shoulders slump. "Well, no matter. But I have never been able to find a way. Whoever designed that system knows Jedi abilities too well."

"I won't give up, Atris. I've been preparing for this moment for too long."

Atris looks at me for a very long time, and then, shaking her head softly, she wordlessly walks towards the cockpit of the ship. A moment later, the engines begin to warm up.

When we arrive, it's still dark, so I fall asleep. It's my first good sleep since I had finished writing the last section of the book using the bent practice sword that Captain Green had given me. When I wake up, the day is already half-done. Part of me is angry with Atris for not waking me up, but I can already picture the look of icy scorn she will level at me should I approach her. We both know that I will need to rest and prepare for the full day walk through the heavy snow and forests.

So I begin putting together the equipment and supplies I'll need for the journey. To my surprise, I find a brand new one-man tent in the cargo bay, as well as a pair of skis and some of the best climbing equipment the Republic can supply. It seems as if Atris knew what I would do before I did.

When I'm done organizing and packing, I return to the bunk and get more sleep, squeezing in as much as I can. It's only when I wake up twelve hours later, at the crack of down, that I realize how exhausted I've been, worn out by my fruitless searching. I take a moment to gather myself, finding that the sleep has helped me recover.

When I leave my room, all my equipment is stacked neatly by the exit ramp, along with a steaming plate of food and kaffa.

I eat the food silently, and then put on my gear. I don't need to talk to Atris; there's nothing to say. She can't stop me from going and I know she won't join me. It's a benefit of being Force sensitive that is rarely discussed, the ability sometimes to forgo conversation and actions that will yield no benefit.

By the time, I reach the base of the plateau, I am covered in sweat and my legs can barely support me. Tomorrow, I will find a way to climb its sharp walls and avoid whatever defences lie above. Right now though, all I want to do is collapse and rest. But the night is coming and soon it will be cold enough that I will die without shelter. Mustering up the last vestiges of energy I have, I put together the tent that Atris provided and crawl inside, falling asleep moments after I close the entrance.

When I wake up the next morning, my body feels deeply relaxed, as if it's just on the edge of losing all form and slowly seep into the ground. It feels wonderful, and I lie there for a long moment just enjoying the sensation. Or perhaps I'm putting off the moment, the crushing discovery that there is, as Atris says, no way past the defences of this place.

Finally, the need to know overweighs all else and I worm my way out of the tent, only to stop short. In front of me rests a small black box. Around the box, there is no evidence that anyone came or left, no footsteps or other sign.

I don't pick the box up at first, caution overweighing the rising crescendo of curiousity. Instead, I let my senses unfold, feeling for the edges of the shield just metres away. It is still there, extending up into the air and down through the ground, without any apparent source and with a constantly changing frequency that seems to follow no pattern and yet never strays from the range that can effectively thwart Force probes.

Sighing, I cautiously examine the box. The walls of it are so dark, they seem to absorb all of the light around. Even the snow looks more grey than white near it. I extend my senses to find a way to open it, but it opens itself before I can even begin. Inside is a small datapad.

Touching it, I realize whose it is and why Atris was telling the truth when she told me she had tried repeatedly to re-enter the Academy.

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**Toxel _The Sour Twi'lek_. The next day**

"So, you're back," Atris says, her voice strikingly… bland as she greets me at the top of the landing ramp. Behind me, the setting sun is turning the sky a vibrant green and blue, the colors rippling across the sky like waves. The air is turning cold, and in front of me, storm clouds approach. I am stumble up the ramp, my legs feeling like rubber because I pushed myself hard to make sure that I beat those clouds to the ship.

As I hit my boots against the side of the ship to knock the snow off my boots, Atris walks off without a word.

_I wonder what she thinks. Here I am, returning much sooner than planned, covered in snow and barely able to keep on my feet. Does she think I fled? Does she think me a coward, especially after how I boasted that I would stay there for as long as it took to penetrate the shield? _

I'm surprised at this moment by how much I care for her opinion. Perhaps it's just the young man in me, who has always sought approval from those more senior and powerful. I thought I had moved beyond that desire to please others when I stole Revan's ship but now I find myself wondering if I was merely overoptimistic about my own maturity.

As my anxieties about Atris' reactions start to crest, I'm also worrying about how she will react to the truth. But all this flees when my guide appears before me, a large mug of hot kaffa cradled in her hands. She waits patiently, and so wonderfully silent, as I divest myself of the rest of my outerwear. Again she surprises me, picking up the discarded clothing after she hands me the mug and carrying them towards the cargo bay while I go to the small kitchen to bask in the heat of the slowly sipped kaffa.

I can't help thinking about Atris' behaviour. It seems so uncharacteristic. Never before has she helped me in this fashion, nor would I have ever dreamed that she would. Powerful, stern, and proud: which of these words fit these small acts?

I wonder if she knows what I've found.

Part of me wants to give it to her right away, but I feel that it would be snubbing this simple gift she is giving me, so I move to the small kitchen in the ship and sit down, sipping the warm kaffa until I begin to feel more human than icicle.

As if sensing that I am ready, Atris enters the kitchen and sits down. "Did you find what you were looking for," she asks. _Such a simple question for such a complex discovery._ And the only answer is a simple one.

"Yes," I say, pulling her old diary out of my bag.

"So now you know," she breathes. Though her face is calm, there is… not so much fear as melancholy there and I want to make it go away.

Perhaps against her will or intentions, I have come to respect and care for Atris, and it hurts me to see her vulnerable, even if it means handing over what may be the last thing that can point me to my mother.

"No, I don't." As calmly as I can, considering what I'm giving her, I lay it into her outstretched hands.

Her mouth opens for a moment, her face freezes in place as she struggles to understand what I've told her. "You didn't…"

"No, I did not."

"But this may have the answers you are looking for."

"Yes."

She searches my eyes for a long time before asking another simple question. "Why?"

"Because I know too well the pain of secrets stolen, of intrusions into the heart unwelcomed." Then, getting up, thinking that I will go to sleep now, I add, "If you come across something helpful, please let me know."

I turn towards the room where I sleep, but Atris reaches, stopping me with two tips of two long fingers to my elbow. "Wait," she says.

I pause, wondering what else there is to say. I can see the internal struggle play out across her face for a moment, as if she's trying to find a way around her pride to apologize or thank me. I open my mouth after a bit to tell her that there is no need, but then her hand slides down to mine and turns it palm up. Some part of me is already flinching, anticipating the feeling of burning ice where her fingers touch my skin. But it is just the simple, gentle warmth of a human hand and it's only me who is frozen by this simple, too ordinary marvel. And then the expected cold finally lays itself on my palm, but its source is the datapad.

"No," I say, trying to pick the datapad off the hand that she holds, to give it back to her. She stops me, her other hand gently blocking my confused grasping.

The way our hands are now touching, the way she is seated yet leaning towards me… I feel incongruously like I've just asked her to dance, and was pulling her towards the dance floor before we were frozen in place.

"I remember something…," she says, her eyes losing their focus for a moment as she searches for a memory. "Something your mother told me when we were both still at the Dantooine Academy, something very important that I never understood until now." Gently, she takes my right hand and places it over the data pad in my left. Then, after a deep shuddering breath, she pushes my hands away. "It's a gift."

_A gift_… My mother, before she lost her connection to the Force, had always felt that our abilities should be understood as a gift. Unlike power, which is taken by one from another, and whose absence is resented, a gift can help both the receiver and the donor.

"No, this is too much. I don't want this…" The words die on my mouth. Though Atris says nothing, I know what her eyes are telling me and I won't demean what she has bequeathed to me. I open my mouth to tell her that I won't put what I find in my book, that I won't tell anyone about what I find, but she speaks before I can.

"Tell it all, Toxel. Everything."

"You don't understand. What I will get from this book—"

"Toxel," she interrupts, her voice taking on the more familiar tone of a lecturer. I can see us both relax a little as she continues, far more comfortable assuming our traditional roles, even though we both know that they are now illusions. "I am a historian and a scholar. I have learned more about Jedi and Sith abilities than anyone alive, perhaps more than anyone in a thousand years. I know," and her voice becomes a bit softer, though it is still firm, uncompromising, "what you can do, and I know what you will get out of this book. Tell the story. Tell _my _story."

There is nothing I can say to that, so I just nod. And now that the deed is done, I see more of the old Atris return, her face growing colder and her bearing more stiff. But while her distancing takes away the intimate vulnerability that she and I have just shared, we both know there is no turning back. Like it or not, my gift and hers returned have tied our fates together as surely as any Force bond.

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**Atris' Diary: Entry 1**

Secrets. I love mine. Whether a future historian, a victorious enemy, or another, you will love them too.

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**(Atris) Three years before the Exile returned to Republic space.**

They were waiting for me six months ago, when I arrived at the old irrigation station on Telos. The Handmaidens had been drawn here, sensing somehow that I required them.

Since then, they have served me without question or hesitation, gathering every holocron I could point them towards and killing any who dared venture near our base.

I never asked why they chose me, and they never chose to tell me. When I consider it now, my Force points me to this one sentence: _Sometimes, passion is best served cold._

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**Atris' Diary: Entry 45 **

I'm thinking about love now, and it doesn't seem logical that I should treasure it—along with deceit, hatred, fanaticism, purity—equally with calm, harmony, and truth. When I chose to save Atton, my brother, it was for love. That choice led to my torture, rape, domination, and fall to the dark side. _Surely that example illustrates why_, you might say, _the Jedi have always preached against acting upon impulses and feelings?_

That would seem to make sense, but it's wrong. Despite all that my brother did to me, I still love him and I would not change a thing. That is the nature of love. It just is, and it always will be.

Of course, I hate him too, but I will never tell another that.

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**(Atris) Two and a half years before the Exile returned to Republic space.**

I can feel the dark power emanating from the Sith holocrons, even though my Handmaidens have only just landed on the surface. I leave my personal chambers, and by the time I reach the meeting room, my Echani servants are laying the holocrons on a table for me to view, letting them drop gently from bags I gave them when they left. For the uninitiated, the holocrons are perilous to touch.

I had sent the Handmaidens to retrieve them last month, after I had discovered a reference to them in one of my books. The group that I see before me now has one person fewer than the group that left. I do not ask them where their sister is. They knew the risks of this venture when I proposed it. Saving a galaxy calls for sacrifice.

For my last six months here, and the many years I spent on Dantooine, I have buried myself in the knowledge of the Jedi and found it lacking. There was nothing in it that answered the one crucial question fundamental for understanding the Jedi: why do Jedi sacrifice themselves for the cause, if not because of the passion of their belief in it?

_Perhaps I will find an answer now in the whispers of Sith teachings_, I think as I gaze upon the bubbling, red depths of the scattered pyramids. Luckily, I have the knowledge to protect myself. Besides, I have already endured the worse the universe can inflict. These artifacts of evil hold no peril for me.

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**Atris' Diary: Entry 67**

The Sith would say that altruism is a lie, because all people serve themselves first. They are both right and wrong.

There is a Jedi Master named Hugolo. He used to be a happy man, even when he first started his tenure as Jedi Master on Dantooine. He was always pleasant to his students, and liked to cultivate friends among them. His students would often recount to their envious peers the nights where Hugolo would have them over for dinner. Hugolo, they said, was an excellent cook and, moreover, a masterful storyteller and comedian.

However, to his dismay Master Hugolo discovered that his students weren't doing as well in their tests and, more importantly, that they seemed to lack the toughness that other students seemed to gain from their Masters. Looking into the problem, Hugolo realized that the other Masters were much harder on their pupils, so that those students had to learn how to protect and find answers for themselves.

After that, Hugolo became known as the most strict and demanding Master in the Academy. Soon after, his students became known as the most able survivors of all the graduating classes.

Though Master Hugolo always missed the camaraderie he had enjoyed before with his students, his passion for tough teaching is always renewed when he hears of incidences in which his students overcame challenges unmastered by previous Jedi.

Included among his students are Masters Vrook, Kavar, Vash, and I, four of the last five remaining Jedi Council members still known to be alive.

To serve altruistically, in other words, is still to serve oneself, because to do good, feels good. Acting selflessly meets our needs just as much as the satiation of revenge, love, lust, or hunger does.

Unfortunately, the self-serving nature of selflessness is a paradox best kept hidden. Most people would not understand, because the Jedi have always told them that good is equated with sacrifice, and selfishness with evil. It is another lie used to control our behaviour, and one that is not ripe for challenge. Yet.

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**(Atris) Two years before the Exile returned to Republic space.**

When I found the combat training techniques in the Sith holocrons four months ago, I started practicing them every day. I hoped to discover in them the same confidence and insights that Xi Lan and Master Kavar had seemed to gain from their intensive weapons training, but which had always eluded me.

Now, for the first time, I am joining the ritual practice session of my Handmaidens, the one in which they test each other in face-to-face combat. Maybe here, I will finally find what I'm looking for.

I am dressed in the same white clothes that the Handmaidens use. At first, as I stand watching the others duel, I have to suppress my embarrassment. The clothes are much tighter than the ones I'm used to, and so they reveal how thin I am compared to the well-endowed Echani women around me.

But then, unbidden, I remember one day at Xi Lan's pond on Dantooine. I feel again the unexpected desire that stirred in my belly when she stripped and lunged into the water. And the embarrassment that came with my own reluctance to disrobe. She had laughed, gently, as I hesitated there on the bank, waving me to come in. And then, the moment I need now, I remember the look in her eyes when I had finally divested myself of my clothing. The one now known as the Exile had found me beautiful.

Though that had not been enough for me then, it is more than sufficient now. My shoulders straighten, my eyes lift up from the floor, and I'm ready to take my turn.

Because it is my first time, the Handmaidens choose their weakest sister to face me, the one they call the Last Handmaiden.

"As you are yet untried in combat with us," another of the sisters instructs me, "this combat will take place without weapon, item, or Force use of any kind." She goes on to tell me the other rules of the combat, but all my focus is now on my opponent.

The Last Handmaiden is nervous, I see, and also a bit abashed. I think she is afraid that she will hurt me. I swear to myself then and there that no Handmaiden will ever worry about that again.

Then the match begins and the Last Handmaiden comes at me with a low kick. Nervous despite all my attempts at calm, I step back from it, and again at her next kick. Soon, I'm getting close to the edge of the mat, and if I don't change tactics, I will lose and be humiliated.

Pride, oh my pride will not let that happen. I get angry and the next time she kicks, I jam her incoming leg hard with my foot. She stumbles, surprised by my resistance, and I move in, launching straight punches towards her head, and then upper torso. She blocks them, but now it is she who is moving backwards as I pursue with a flurry of attacks.

Force, it feels good to fight like a true warrior after so many years of being the unskilled one!

She tries to manoeuvre around me then, tries to slip to one side, but it's almost like I see the move before it happens, and I'm jumping. Her kick passes underneath the legs I've tucked up under my body, and then my right foot darts out and her nose crumples under the impact.

She stumbles backwards then, blood tracing paths of defeat down her lips and onto her pristine practice white outfit.

The sight of the blood streaming from her broken nose pulls me into another memory of Xi Lan, an earlier one in which she is trying to teach me how to fight. That day, she made me lose my temper, the first time that had ever happened. In the brawl that followed, for I can not dignify that thrashing, exchange of brutality a fight, I broke her nose. After that, she bowed before me to signify my victory. Though I had accused her of many dark things at that moment, I had learned my first secret that day, one that I had hid from myself until now.

I like to win.

Coming back to the present, I shift to the Last Handmaiden's left side, changing the angle of my attack while she is still disorientated. My fists slam into the torso she left unprotected after I broke her nose. Her breath rushes out of her, in barks timed to my blows—one, two, three. She is close to the edge of the mat now, and I finish the match lazily, pushing her on to the cold hard floor beyond.

Around me, I feel the colorless approval of the other Handmaidens. The tapestry of red I painted on their sister makes us one family. In this moment, I discover another thing that I will tell no one. I have always longed to be loved, not as a Master or teacher but simply for who I am.

Though the acceptance the Handmaidens give me now is far from sufficient, it helps.

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**Atris' Diary: Entry 102**

To deny passion it like denying the existence of the sun. The only way to deny its presence is to lock oneself away behind walls, so that the offending truth never need be confronted. That is what the Jedi do with their unquestioned Code.

The natives on Cludn'es lived on a small planet close to their system's sun. When their civilization was first born, the planet's surface was uninhabitable, and so they grew within the confines of an underground system of caves and aquifers. Light filtered into those caves through small cracks and holes in the surface, and they called those spots _tyels_, which would roughly translate into stars in our language. Because of the natural shifting of the earth's crust, the _tyels_ frequently change size, disappeared, and grew larger over time.

Whole clerical orders were developed to worship the tyels, and the civilization's culture was organized around periodic blood sacrifices to appease the tyels, in the hope that they would assume a shape and size that would favour the particular cave system in question.

When the first scouting team from the Republic landed on the planet, the Cludn'es people were in the midst of a violent civil war that had already killed off half their population. When the Republic team wandered into the tunnels, the Cludn'es people welcomed them with open arms, especially when the Republic officers helped negotiate a cease fire for the war. That welcome was only warmer when the outsiders started dispensing medications that helped treat an influenza plague that had started among the population.

The priests from the different, formerly warring camps got together to celebrate their newfound peace and to honour their heroes. During that dinner, it occurred to the priests that they knew very little about their saviours, and so they began asking questions about the mysterious, lost cave system from which they believed the Republic officers must have come.

When the Republic team told the Cludn'es priests the truth about their origins, the Cludn'es priests immediately killed them and resumed their war. Because their team stopped reporting back, the Republic decided to wait before sending in another team, preferring to send remote probes instead. Those probes turned up nothing, because the Cludn'es had sealed off every entrance from the surface into their domains.

Ten years later, when the next sentient scouting team arrived, they found that the entire local civilization had died out. In the end, they had preferred to wipe each other rather than change their beliefs about the nature of the universe.

When Jedi and the Sith war they do so not only to gain victory over the other, but to defend each other's totalitarian definition of passion. The Sith focus their passion on personal power, the Jedi on the Code, and both protect the other by denying that other passions have value. And so, the rest of us are stripped of our ability to grow, defend ourselves, or die at our own discretion. The only question left to answer is whether the Jedi or the Sith who will herd the sheep.

When I came to understand this lesson, I realized that I am the last true Jedi—something that neither side will understand. I will no longer defend some antiquated Code nor manoeuvring myopically for some meager scraps of power. The cause towards which my passion is directed is freedom for the people of the galaxy.

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**(Atris) One year, seven months before the Exile returned to Republic space.**

I'm walking through the hallways of the Telos Citadel Station. It is the first time in a long time that I have not felt the cold, comforting blanket of Echani servitude. Though I miss their predictable, silent presence, it is thrilling to be walking alone. I feel exposed and vulnerable and it makes me feel alive.

I am clad in a blue and silver shirt and skirt set. They cling tightly to my body, which has filled out somewhat due to my rigid exercise routine. Though the skirt hugs my form as it descends to the floor, my legs sneak out for peeks, courtesy of two long side slits. My hair is also freed, hanging below my neck and swaying, along with my hips, to the song of my anticipation. I have come here to test my new power.

I arrive at the cantina that I have chosen for my laboratory, and with a last look at my appearance in a glass window that protects a nearby advertisement, I enter the cantina and I hear it.

When a newcomer enters a well-used space, there is always that almost impossible to detect gap in the noise, the signal that familiar faces are evaluating a new one. For me, that gap was longer, more easy to notice. Some people were taking their time, liking what they saw.

I sense something unfamiliar, and I realize that I am smiling. Not the soft smile for a friend, or a joke, but a new one, full of the power I feel knowing that others desire me. I walk up to the bar, enjoying the press of eyes as they crawl along my body, seeking entry to the mysteries hinted at but not revealed. Another small part of me cringes, looks to escape, but I ignore it. Its time is past.

"A bottle of Dantooine Flash Fire," I say to the droid bartender as I follow my instincts, inserting myself between two burly human men at the bar.

"That's a lot of drink for a fine-looking lady like yourself," says the man on my left, his voice husky and a little uncertain when I sense he is trying for smooth.

"Oh," I say, my eyes facing to the front, while I roll each word around my tongue like a sip of fine wine, "so you can't handle your liquor then?"

The man to my right laughs, his eyes challenging his newly discovered competitor. "Sador here is intimidated by drink stronger than juma juice, or a lady finer than the local harlots."

The man on my left sputters, his face red, and yet I feel untouched, invulnerable. My time with the Handmaidens has helped me harden the walls around the injuries inflicted by Atton and years of Jedi suppression. Those things that once disturbed me—harsh emotions, foul language, and other relics of passion—now serve only as reminders, pointing to the new strengths I have gained. But I still have one more step to take, one more trial before I am fully healed.

I don't want my experiment to end before its time, in a battle between my would-be suitors. Grabbing the bottle that the bartender has just placed in front of me, I head towards a nearby free table.

"Pay him," I say to the man on the right, and some of his swagger disappears as he frantically digs into his pockets for the money. The other smirks and follows me to the table.

Several hours pass easily after that, as I sip slowly on the Dantooine Fire Flash that the men, who have grown in numbers from two to seven, insist on pouring into my glass anytime it gets empty. My eyes begin to glaze over, but that is an illusion put there by my will. I am Echani, and no alcohol can take away my discipline.

The same can not be said for the other men. Though I have not let them get too drunk, they have consumed enough to have succumbed to the first level of effect from the drink—increased libido. As I look at the seven flushed faces, and the looks of envy that float our way from many other men in the cantina, I surprise myself by almost giggling.

_Either I am getting drunk on this power I'm wielding_ _or am_ _I less immune to the effect of Dantooine Flash Fire than I thought_. Even the taint of self-disgust I was used to ignoring seemed to have gone dormant, at least for the moment. Whatever the reason for my light heartedness, it is time to change settings.

"I'm leaving," I say, standing up, letting my body accidentally push over my chair so that it crashes onto the floor. My mouth parted slightly, I look each man in the face, my eyes lingering a little like lips at the end of a kiss. "Who else is coming?"

The men stumble over themselves as they affirm their continued participation, and they follow me as I slowly wend my way out of the bar. As we walk, I allow my walking to deviate, occasionally, from the straight and narrow path of the sober. Though my eyes face forward, I can sense the looks that they give each other, the elbows they dig into each others' ribs as they contemplate their shared "conquest."

A few minutes later, we arrive at the room that I rented. I open the door, take a step inside, and then turn around, pretending to wobble a bit before leaning against the its frame uncertainly. At least, I think I'm pretending.

"Well," I say, allowing my words to slur slightly, "thank you for accompanying me to my room. I was afraid that someone might try to accost me in my condition, and that I wouldn't be able to defend myself. That was very noble of you, and I wish you all a good night." Then, I'm turning away from them, stepping inside, my hand reaching towards the button that will close the door.

Like a wave that rumbles into a shoreline, the men rush in, pushing me to the back of the room while one punches the door closed. Their hands are all over me, tearing my skirt along its seams, digging into my shirt, their heavy lips attaching onto whatever bare skin is revealed.

And then, there it is, the anger and fear I've been searching for, seeking to awaken, the ones I had hidden away after my brother desecrated my virgin body, and my soul. As these louts seek to violate me, those buried memories and emotions return in full force and now I totter on the edge of two paths, the flight into denial and further degradation, or the emergence of a new power, annealed in the blazing fires of life's harshest trials.

With my discipline, I push my soul towards acceptance and transformation, and, terribly slowly but within the blink of an eye, a decision is made in my soul. The way of defeat loses its grip on my heart and its fear disappears in a flash, irrevocably consumed. The fury, which has been growing hotter and brighter with each unwanted touch, blazes as it consumes the last vestiges of my long-concealed self-pity. As it feeds, my anger becomes absolute, icy calm.

I fling my attackers away from me in that moment, their bodies tumbling like limp dolls as they scatter to the various corners of the room.

But they are not neophytes, these mercenaries, they are seasoned fighters. Swords and blasters are drawn quickly as they gather themselves, unwilling to let their prey go, and sensing perhaps as well that their lucky night has turned more sour than they could have imagined. Meeting their drawn weapons is a lit lightsabre, its blade light blue, one of the two that Xi Lan left in the Jedi Council chambers upon her exile.

Two men shoot at me with their blasters, perhaps unwilling to believe that they truly face a trained Force user. I deflect their bolts back at them, hitting them in the gut repeatedly as their bodies seem to collapse in slow motion towards the ground. The others, smarter or luckier, rush me with their vibroswords held high.

Knowing that to wait for them in one spot will mean death, I follow my instincts to the right, where I surprise one man by drawing my weapon across his stomach before he can block with his blade. The squelching sound of his entrails escaping his stomach is drowned out by the electric squealing as my lightsabre slides along the blade of the next man. My blade catches in his guard, and he begins to grin, thinking that he will disarm me, but I beat him to it, using an ancient Sith technique to twist the blade out of his hands instead. Using the Force, I push the released blade into the shoulder of one of the other men, and then kick the knee out of the disarmed man in front of me.

The other three men are trying to surround me now, raining blows down on me. I'm blocking frantically, trying to find an opening to break this circle even as the man at my feet tries to grab my leg. I duck low then, my lightsabre sweeping in a tight circle so that it cuts off the arm that has just gripped my leg. My free hand plucks that arm before it can fall, and flings it at one of my attackers.

He ducks, and the arm barely misses him but the trail of blood from it doesn't. For only a moment, he is blinded, wiping frantically at his eyes while he waves his sword in front of him to ward off any attack. I feint towards him, and one of the men moves, his sword reaching out to block the blow he thought I would direct at his friend. Instead, my blade moves straight for the protector, spearing him through the heart so that he drops down like a stone, instantly dead. Even as his body collapses, I'm jumping over it and then turning to face my last two enemies.

They exchange looks, and then they turn, starting to dash towards the door they had not long ago sought entry into. Before they can take three steps, their heads fall, courtesy of the lightsabre I flung at them.

Three seconds later, I end the life of the two wounded men left alive, one as he hunches over the arm I had severed and the other who is trying to crawl away from me while gathering his spilled intestines.

And now, as I survey the carnage of my room, I know that I can fight in a pitched battle, like those who went to war, and survive, kill like they did. These men will not be missed, I think, not really caring. Killers and would-be rapists, this was a fate that had long awaited them.

I pick up the holovideo recorder that I had hidden in the room, and send the video to TSF Security, along with a complaint about the attack. With a little persuasion, the matter is cleared up the next day.

I am ready to battle for the freedom of the galaxy.

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**Atris' Diary: Entry 134**

When I was a servant of the Order, I had restrained all my inclinations towards passion and love—for books and the discovery of truth, for the art of writing, and for the Exile. All of these I had placed in a lockbox, hidden away so that I could search for the truth without prejudice, and serve the Jedi faithfully.

But it was all a lie.

Answer this if you can. What would lead one such as I to make such painful sacrifices? Commitment to the cause, loyalty to the Masters or the Order, the warm feeling of good that blinds one to self-interest, choose what you will. All of these share one characteristic, passion. Their holder sacrifices everything for the cause of her choice because she is passionate about it.

Accepting that truth, ask yourself this: if the Jedi and the Sith serve their purpose with equal passion, then what truly separates the dark side from the light side?

If you answer that question the way I did, then you will understand why I sought to chart a different course, one directed at saving the galaxy, not at preserving one or the other of the old orders.

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**(Atris) One year before the Exile returned to Republic space.**

I am letting my mind flitter from holocron to holocron, enjoying the shock of moving from light peacefulness to simmering darkness, and back again. Neither touches me now, for I have a new purpose, to set the galaxy free from the Jedi and Sith. My purpose, and so my self, are protected by my discipline which in turn is given strength by the passion I hold for my cause.

My mission is almost complete, thanks to the unthinking enmity that drives the Jedi and Sith to destroy each other without thought or question. Every day, the numbers of my enemies dwindles, and soon the unbending religions that consume the vitality of the galaxy will be gone and the rest of us free to pursue our own destinies.

Though I glory in the upcoming victory, today, like other days, I find that a part of me is disappointed. I have been spending so much effort to prepare myself, but now it seems that I will have no enemy to face. Still, once the Jedi and Sith are gone, it is likely that different challenges and new enemies will emerge.

I think it is likely I will find some new cause to defend.

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**Atris' Diary: Entry 151**

Have you ever imagined what the world would look like without the Jedi and Sith? I think it will be worth finding out.

_What about the Jedi_, you might ask. _Aren't the Jedi_ _worth saving?_ I will tell you here that the answer is "no." The Jedi of my former Order are no better than anyone else. They cut some people down, help others, and do it all unthinking, defending a cause that no one else subscribes to. Why? For some, it is because it feels "right" to follow the Code, though they do not understand its origins or purpose. And then there are all those other Jedi Masters, Knights, and Padawans, who act as directed by their superiors, simply because it makes them feel good to obey. Who could love such ignorant gizkas? As for the few truly in charge, what makes them feel good is maintaining their control. I should know, I used to be one of them.

_Aren't the Jedi_, you might continue, _still preferable to the Sith?_ It is true that the Sith are despicable worms, but for one reason only. They are so blinded by hatred that they ignore all the other passions that make life worth living: compassion, generosity, love, purpose. Like the Jedi, they are blinded because they do not question what drives them; instead, they follow instructions laid down by those who failed hundreds of years ago. Even worse, they often act like a wounded cannock, consuming their own entrails when wounded.

I do not know what the outcome will be, once they are gone. Perhaps we will thrive, finding new ways of using the Force, governing ourselves, and setting directions for our society. Perhaps we will wither away into obscurity, or be swept away by another power until all that is left of us is the sigh of our name on the lifeless planets left behind.

All those possibilities and many more are the true dimensions of life, and always will be. It's just that now, it's only a few Jedi and the Sith who truly get to match themselves against it.


	4. Chapter 4

I WILL LIVE: PATTERNS OF BETRAYAL AND REDEMPTION III 

**Chapter 4**

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**A/N: **To my horror at 4AM this morning, I woke up realizing that I had forgotten to thank Trillian for her **wonderful beta-reads** of this chapter and the one after. Her comments sparked off some crucial additions, changes, and her keen grammar eye helped immensely too. Many thanks my overseas friend!

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**Toxel (Hope, Telos)**

_Atris, I hope you know what you're doing…_

We returned to Hope city this morning. Atris had left me as soon as we touched down, only saying that I should "start writing." I had wanted to say something, offer her some kind of reassurance, but the stiffness of her back made it clear that she would not wait for any words that I might utter. Besides, though it was difficult to accept, we had already said all we could on the matter. That is, until I had read her diary, and the emotions and memories within the pages.

I stayed up all night writing down the words that burnt down my arms, through my now cramped hands, and onto the datapad. The sun is just rising now, but the bright and beautiful light that streams into the room becomes just a pleasant dream as I collapse on my bed, still fully clothed.

When I wake up, it's night again and the house we've been renting since we arrived in Hope is still empty. Touching the door, I can tell that Atris did not come in while I slept. But her absence was far from surprising. What I had read and written, it was a doorway into the very blackest corners of Atris' heart, and perhaps the most fragile.

But though I understand her absence, I feel sad too. The young, uncertain man in me worries that I will never see her again, even though the Force tells me that our paths are linked.

In the meantime, I need to figure out my next step. And I have nothing more to go on.

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**(Toxel). Hope, Telos**

Four days later, I've gotten nowhere. I still can find no trace of Visas and Bao-Dur, though I know they survived Malachor V. I can't find any records of Atton either.

I'm not as sure that Atton survived because, according to the memories of Revan that I have been able to access, there had been several human male corpses on the _Ebon Hawk_ when it had escaped from Malachor V. Maybe Atton was one of them, and it was someone else who survived. Someone else whose identity I don't know.

_If it was someone else who survived, how would I find who it might be?__I would have to find someone who had met my mother and her crew after they left Telos and before they left for Malachor V. Which means someone on Dantooine, Nar Shadaa, or, ideally, here on Telos because that's the last place the official records say my mother visited before leaving to Malachor V. And so, it would have to be one of Captain Grenn's staff, or one of Atris' Handmaidens because… _I feel like slapping my head. _Because my mother visited the Academy to deal with Atris, just before she went to Malachor V._

_Atris…__Again Atris. Atris might have seen who the other __members of my mother's crew were. She might be able to give me their names. She might be able to tell me whether who the human male was._

I find myself suddenly in a very peculiar situation, one part of me hoping that Atton is dead and the other part of me hoping he was alive.

I'm not sure what my mother felt about Atton in the end, but I had grown to like the man, or at least the man that had been revealed in my research and writing. Beyond the dark history, underneath the joker and smooth professional, I sensed a man who cared deeply for those he let close to him, a man who had been driven towards evil not by his base nature but through a combination of weaknesses beyond his control and an innate sense of fairness.

_Atton was, or still is perhaps, a man who fell because he looked for justice and goodness, and despaired when he came to believe that the galaxy had no place for it._

Because if he's dead, then it means that someone else survived Malachor V, another human male I can track down for information and guidance. Someone who might be easier to find than Bao-Dur and Visas.

_Frack! Atris, where are you and why are you always absent when I need answers to questions? Have you left now that I know how you fell? _

Panic threatens to overwhelm me, but I know better now. I quiet my mind, and making room for my instincts to tell me where she has gone. _Where is she?_

And then I know.

It takes only ten minutes for me to get to the space port and warm up the engines of our rundown space ship, _The Sour Twi'lek_. It still flies like a drunken Tatooine dewback with wings, but it gets me to the Telos Space Station without too much hassle, which is all that I need. I dock the ship at the same landing area that my mother used for the _Ebon Hawk_ when she first arrived here. Walking towards my destination, I find myself comparing what I see to my mother's memories of this place. It's clear that the lifetime of this space station is nearing its end as settlers and the restoration teams move to the surface. The walls are covered with Alapia fungus that the TSF people are no longer bothering to remove. The walkways are empty, my footsteps clanking alone for most of the way. Many of the billboards, which used to burn brightly with distracting advertisements for the weary inhabitants, now barely flicker. M,any of the displays have disappeared, leaving only the gray lightsheets underneath.

The cantina still has life in it, I discover as I enter. All around, there are aliens and humans clustered in corners. From the clothes that they wear and their bearing, it is clear that these are ship crew, traders, and smugglers: people who make their living on the hyperspace routes that join the planets of this universe. While most sentients hanker for fresh plants, natural air and water, these people prefer the cold, immense emptiness of space.

At first, I don't see her, but it doesn't take long to find the shocking, platinum hair that marks my companion as an Echani. There is a quiet about her, of a nature that I can't describe save that it is even lonelier than the dark spaces I just traveled to get here. Around her table, there is a little extra space. Even most hardy, weathered veterans in this place seem to find it difficult to get too close to her. Or, given her natural beauty, perhaps she is using the Force to discourage the approach of over eager company.

Still, I feel nothing as I approach her. Her gaze is turned downwards, towards her drink, and she doesn't look up at me as I sit down beside her. Her voice, when she speaks, is softer than I've ever imagined it could be.

"It's been years since I sat at this table. I was so very young then, though I thought I had found wisdom. Seven men paid the price for my pride."

I sense that she understands the purpose of my visit, and that she will provide me with some answers when she is ready, so I settle in to wait, nursing the Manaan green ale I picked up when I first entered the bar.

"You, son of Xi Lan," she says after a while, "are far too wise for one so young." Her smile is soft, her eyes warm and I blink, expecting the beautiful illusion before me to disappear, once more returned to the hard, glittering smooth walls I've grown used to. But the mirage doesn't disappear, instead becomes more real with each passing moment and my heart skips. If she had shown this face, this humanity to Malak, or more likely my mother, would that have changed anything?

The problem is, I know Atris far too well, and not at all. I've always taken the stiffness of my guide for granted, always expected her to stay distant, and yet, right now, I can almost feel those borrowed images from my mother starting to melt. Atris is over fifty years old but when she smiles, she still looks like she's in her twenties. Echani live long and die young.

My face becomes hot as I realize I'm staring at her. Turning my gaze to the safer images of the spacers around us, I finally respond, "I do not feel that I'm wise at all. There is so much that I don't know, and I can't imagine that I'll ever understand or see as much as Revan, or be as powerful as Bastila."

Atris' face, and the air around her, turn colder, darker, thrumming with power that howls around her and I like the artic winds of Telos. "Do you want to be that powerful? Do you want to hold the universe in your hands, knowing that you can make it do your will?"

Her words are inconsequential compared to the whispers from her Force. I can feel her cold power whipping around my centre, pulling me loose from wisdom and enticing me with glimpses the howling strength of artic storm unleashed, of freedom from the drudgeries of duties and the satisfaction of pleasures both wild and dark. But though I feel their pull, these promises do not touch me. I'm already used to the blustering dry storms of Tatooine, and the harsh polar winds of Atris' power can only disturb the surface of my being. My core remains untouched and stillness becomes my answer.

After a short moment, Atris smiles, and the room grows lighter, merrier even than when I entered. "Power doesn't tempt you, Toxel?"

It's so normal, and far too strange, being so casually intimate with this woman. She holds so much power now over my life's work, but she gave me access to the darkest corners of her soul. She betrayed my mother in a most terrible way, and yet she is my guide, and maybe a friend.

_Maybe this intimacy is the only thing that makes sense._

Atris eases me out of my thoughts with a gentle touch of her hand.

"I have lived in the shadow of greatness all my life," I tell her, "and seen the price paid for it."

"Like I said, you are too wise for one so young." Again, I marvel at the fact that the touch of her hand is gentle and warm. "And for that I'm thankful," Atris continues, a spark of amusement now in her eyes.

_How can she smile at me like that when she knows what I've read, what I've seen? What I've written? _I've done the same to Revan, Bastila, my mother and others. But none of them know about my ability or what I've written. Atris does.

"Why don't you hate me, Toxel?" she asks, her thoughts mirroring mine.

"Because you meant well. Because I know you too well too hate you, even though I don't know you at all. Because you were betrayed in a way that was almost as terrible as what my mother went through, and I can see how you could easily have fallen."

"I chose that fate," she says, withdrawing her hand. I can see on her face that she's marshalling herself for an argument.

"No you didn't," I say, projecting as much certainty as I can. "You were naïve, you were reaching out in the only way you knew how, and you were harmed in a terrible way."

Atris lets out a long deep breath, before turning her eyes downwards. "Nonetheless, I wouldn't change a thing."

"Still," I say, now putting my hand on hers, "it doesn't change what happened."

She's silent for a long time before she nods slowly. I give her hand a squeeze, and then leave it there, thinking that I will wait for her to regain her composure.

But then I find that another feeling is demanding my attention.

I'm young and have never had a lover, and yet I have vicariously lived all the tragic dimensions of love. The first blush of attraction. The awkward, intense conversations that awaken deepening passion. The tentative, agonizingly sweet first kiss and the thundering opening of love making. The gut wrenching loss when the other one leaves… or betrays.

So, the tickling in my stomach that I feel now, is it that borrowed and expressed knowledge that is speaking? Is it the part of me that has already lived several decades or the naïve youth? I don't know, but both for now, experience and youth agree. I withdraw my hand gently, masking my discomfort under the guise of lifting to glass to my suddenly parched throat.

Atris doesn't seem to notice, because she is reaching down towards a bag at her feet.

Looking at Atris as she is distracted, I realize that the woman I know has never been as cold or as distant as I had thought. There have been little signs of warmth, uncertainty, and other human emotions all around her that I have often missed.

Bringing the bag up from the floor, Atris holds it out to me. Taking it, I look inside to discover a small bracelet and a data chip. I look at her. She wears a small look of satisfaction on her face.

"I hope these will provide you with the answers you seek, because…" she pauses, and I can sense arguments and rationales once again forming at the tip of her tongue. But then she looks at me deeply for a moment before shaking her head, a small self-deprecating smile forming on her face. "Because a woman has to keep at least a few secrets to herself."

She's probably three times my age, but that doesn't stop me from rolling my eyes. To my surprise, she laughs, and I join her a moment later. It is a good feeling, its lightness chasing away all the confusing emotions that are filling the space between us.

Later that night, as I sit in the hotel room in Hope, I start to wonder why she didn't give me this broken bracelet and data chip before. If she had done that, perhaps I would never have gone to the Telos Academy, never have found her diary.

_Did she want me to find it? Did she really want that tale told? And if so, why me? Why not some other historian or story teller? _

_Or did she know somehow that I could get it where she couldn't? And if so, what more does Atris know about what… and who is inside the Academy? Could Bao-Dur still be in there? Or perhaps some of the Handmaidens?_

_Or was it just some kind of test? Frack! It could be any and all of these and there's probably something else I haven't even thought of!_

And then I remember Atris' last words, "Because a woman has to keep at least a few secrets to herself." Which means, I guess, that whatever the answers are, Atris isn't going to tell them to me, not yet at least. So the only way to see what it all means, and what I need to do next, is to write.

&.

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&.

**Xi Lan (Telos Academy)**

I hand my bag to one of the other Echani women. They have already loaded our weapons and other bags into a small anti-grav cart, which they lock after putting my backpack into it. On top of the cart, the three woman place Bao-Dur, more carefully and respectfully than I expect. Once that is done, one of the Echani women grabs Atton's arm and another Kreia's.

Like her sisters, the one who has been speaking to us places her hand on my arm. "My mistress would see you now," she says, "alone." Without another word, she pulls me away from my compatriots.

I think about resisting. I'm not very happy about being separated in this unknown place but we have already come too far to back out now. "I'll be back for you soon," I say over my shoulder to Atton and Kreia, who are being pulled towards out another door.

I want to ask questions, but we reach a long, thin bridge that stretches over a seemingly bottomless space. Across the expanse, there is a large structure of some sort with a set of tall, double doors that meet the end.

"Walk there," my guide tells me, and so I do, taking my time and stretching out my senses. I feel the presence of another, cold like our Echani… captors, rescuers? There is something achingly familiar about the entity I feel, but then I'm pushed away by a power much greater than my own crippled strength, or even my former strength of long ago.

Still, despite the harsh expulsion of my search, my questions are immediately answered as the doors silently part, and a tall, ice-white figure steps through them.

_Atris._

She walks towards me, her stride crisp and quick, but not hurried. We close the gap between us until a body's length separates us. Looking at Atris is like staring at the ice in midday, knowing I could go blind but entranced by the stark beauty all the same. Compared to her, the Echani of before become dull shadows in my mind.

How we must look, her etched perfection on the one side and my darkness—black clothes and hair, dark skin—on the other. Her unadorned and simple dress and my chaotic assembly of jewellery. Her cleanliness and the dirt and rips that decorate my clothing. It is as if we have become two ends of some pole, our friendly differences of before now a divide that can not be crossed.

"I did not expect to see you again after the day of your sentencing," she says when we meet. Secretly, I am glad that she started the conversation. "I thought you had taken the exile's path, wandering the galaxy. Yet you have returned… Why?"

Like an iceberg that reveals only the tip of its hidden depths, Atris' question masks layers of deep emotion and mystery too deep to unravel, and too well hidden to explore. But the question itself is already difficult enough.

What answer should I give? What answer can I give? Here, irrevocably after so many years of wandering away from the Republic, is a living, breathing, and unavoidable reminder of all the choices I have made. My choice to defend the Republic. My fall from grace and my loss of the Force. The near hopelessness of my current cause, compared to the strength of the true powers in this universe. My lack of knowledge about what I even hope to accomplish… beyond survival that is.

_Keep it simple, Xi Lan_. "It was not my intention to come here, Atris. I'm just seeking my ship."

A very small smile lights up in Atris' eyes, but its corners are hard and glitter like knives. It is the smile of a Dxun Maalraas as it toys with its prey, though my instincts tell me that Atris does not know how much she is revealing of her emotions. I try not to shudder.

"Your ship… Ah, the _Ebon Hawk_?" Atris says, her voice almost warm for a moment, but not for me. "It is not your ship… unless you are admitting to the destruction of the Peragus mining facility?"

_Those poor miners._ Sighing, I try to prepare myself for the duel to come, which I hope will remain within the forum of words only.

"Yes, Atris, if these are the words you want to hear, they died because of me, though I did nothing to harm them. All I wanted was… all I want…" Again, the hopelessness of my task threatens to overwhelm me, the thought that a host of Sith sought my pathetic life was just so hard to wrap my mind around. "I feel the pain of their deaths, and the pain, even, of that poor broken asteroid, but I did nothing…" _How can I explain this to her? Stick to the facts, keep it simple._ I open my mouth, trying to find the words to explain what happened, at least as far as I know, but Atris cuts me off.

"It doesn't matter what you say, Exile. The _Ebon Hawk_ is here, safe. Its records and navicomputer are being dissected to determine what caused the destruction of the Peragus facility." There is a spark of triumph in her eyes, the only sign of warmth in the perfect still figure in front of me. "Or perhaps you would save me the trouble. What happened at Peragus, Exile?"

"I…" _Stay calm, Xi Lan, the facts are on your side. It wasn't your fault. Don't let her intimidate you! This is not Coruscant._ Still, the words that come from my mouth feel awkward, unconvincing. "The miners were all dead. I was in a kolto tank and when I woke up… they were all dead."

"A facility of over one hundred and fifty personnel, all dead before you woke up? Is that all you can come up with, a child's story to mask your crime? And of course, with the facility destroyed, you think there is no way to confirm your tall tale." Atris' voice is contemptuous, but almost too much so, as if she is masking another feeling. But the ice is too thick around her, and I can't see what's behind the frozen mask that condemns me. "But I will pry the truth from you," Atris continues, "I promise you that."

I struggle to remain calm and rational, to use the anger rather than let it use me. But this scene feels too close to my expulsion from the Republic I only sought to save, too much like the rejection from the friends and peers I only wished to help. "I won't allow you to put me on trial again," I almost shout. _I will not be judged by you or any other, never again!_ "All the miners were already dead! You should know better Atris, you know that I would never do such a thing willingly! "

"I have not known you since you left to serve Revan in the Mandalorian Wars, though I suspect the only question that remains is how far you have fallen."

_How do I escape this trap, this return to judgement as if the last ten years hold no more weight than a dream? _And then anger rushes through me, not my own but of those who inhabit me. It sweeps away the dross of the past that somehow has invaded this moment, and bolsters my courage until I find myself asking, _What does Atris want from me? Surely, Atris as a full Jedi Master should be able to read the truth of my words, so why does she need to confirm what I've already said. Unless… unless the guilt I feel confuses her reading. Just great._

"Do you really find it so hard to believe that I went to help my friends, and to help save peoples' lives? Did you learn nothing of me, of who I am, despite all the years that we were friends? Does it really surprise you that I went to fight the Mandalorians?"

"What does it matter why you left? You, and all the Jedi who followed Revan, who caused the Jedi Civil War… you became the very curse you sought to fight off, until there was no telling you apart from the Mandalorians. All the Jedi Council wanted, Exile, was time to examine the Mandalorian threat and understand its implications. They urged caution and patience, just for a little while, to make sure that the war wasn't a trap. To avoid an even worse catastrophe. And you," she continues, her voice rising, burning hot in her rage, "_defied_ them."

And then, her face seems to compose itself, almost without her conscious effort. "And you became a scourge far worse than the Mandalorians could ever be. You fell, all of you, and took the Jedi Order with you. Were you so surprised that we didn't trust your "repentance?""

"You knew nothing of what drove me..." _or Revan_, I almost say, but then I realize that I don't know what drew Revan into the war, not anymore. "And it seems that you still don't."

Despite my vow not to be judged by Atris, I find I need to defend my actions, to have the say that the Jedi Council did not give me so many years ago. Taking a deep breath, I continue as calmly as I can. "I could not just stand by, Atris. I couldn't just allow all those people to be killed. How many more people would have died if we didn't act when we did?"

"We don't know what would have happened, because the Council wasn't given time to evaluate the situation. Perhaps another way existed. Your actions only made the problem worse. Certainly, more Jedi were killed or turned by Revan than by the Mandalorians."

There is something else that I should remember, some other way that I had evaluated the depth of the Mandalorian threat, some understanding that made me sure that we had to act. But I can't find it in my brain, it's another part of me that was lost at Malachor V, another unexplained gap in the whole of me.

"I can't tell you why Atris, but I am certain it was the right course despite everything that happened. The Mandalorians had to be stopped."

"Did they?" he says, her face seeming to slide naturally into contempt. "Or was it you who couldn't stop, who found in herself the need to kill and kill again, until nothing was left but the broken shells of dozens of worlds? You hated the Mandalorians, you hated us, and in the end, you brought us all down with you!"

"I came to like many Mandalorians. I had …" _I had what? _"I… talked with them, laughed with them, and I killed them when I had to. But I never lusted for war!" At the back of my memories are faint images of long, lonely nights, the pain of friends lost, the crushing weight of constant war and death.

"Why did you return, Exile?" Atris said, her voice frustrated. And yet again, there was a note of falseness behind it. "When I saw you, I found myself hoping that you had come here to finally admit the Council was right. Yet here you are, unrepentant as before, and already you are bringing tragedy to the Republic."

"I couldn't stop the destruction of Peragus, Atris." I cry, frustrated, overwhelmed again by the injustice of it all. _Atton did it_, I almost say, but I will lay the blame at another's feet. He may deserve it, but I should have known to stop him. "It was… it was…" the word is so bitter to say, "necessary."

"Necessary?" I can see the disbelief etched into her face, her strongest emotion yet and I can not blame her. "The destruction of Peragus was necessary? You have not changed," she continues, her voice contemptuous again, but less hidden now. "Acting instead of thinking. Putting yourself before the galaxy, before the Jedi, before…" Atris pauses for a moment, and for the blink of an eye I think I see… _longing_, but then she shakes her head and continues, her voice cool, composed once more. "Do you know what you have done?"

I open my mouth to answer, but she overrides me caught up now in her accusations. "Without the fuel from Peragus, Citadel Station cannot maintain its orbit. It will crash into the planet, and its destruction will echo across twenty other worlds. Why? Because Telos was a test, to see if the Republic could mount a restoration effort on the Outer Rim. When it fails, the Republic will not finance another. The other Rim worlds devastated by the Sith, by you, will remain graveyard worlds, devoid of any value save as memorials to your crimes. Twenty dead worlds, the dead remains buried there separated from life, the Force, for all time." Atris' arms are folded across her chest now, but I can feel her finger poking at my heart, agitating and making the guilt I feel grow and grow.

And yet, I did nothing but try to live, pushed no buttons save to open doors in the hopes that others survived… as I did at Malachor V? Are all my actions doomed to harm others, no matter my intention? Was the Council's judgement right, even if it was for the wrong reasons?

After waiting a moment, perhaps for me to speak, Atris continues, "Say no words, Exile. The guilt is thick on you."

"I never meant to harm anyone," I say, the quiet words wrenching themselves out of me. Despite all my desire to avoid this moment, my eyes turn downwards as I find myself exposed, vulnerable to what now seems like the very figure of angry, righteous judgement. I wait, more repentant than I had been in the Council chambers, waiting against my will for another judgement.

"It does not matter, Xi…" Her soft words surprise me, but they disappear before I can look her in the eyes, replaced now by the voice of the impatient, lecturing Jedi Master. "It does not matter what you intended, Exile. Your choice was to meet the aggression of the Mandalorians with more aggression. And it spiralled out of control, hatred creating more hatred, killing begetting more killing, until all that was left was a terrible echo. And you and those Jedi who met them on the battlefield lost their way... and you turned on us. You and your kind are still feeding on us, your hunger unending, never sated. And all of it, Exile, comes back to you and that wound that you carry."

"If the Jedi Council had helped, instead of 'rationally evaluating the threat, the risks and possible benefits,' then Revan would never have turned," I yell. "You could have helped him, you could have helped us. It was your absence, your lack of caring that created the anger of Revan, and of all that followed him. But you were as guilty as Revan, making cold judgements about millions of lives as if they are pieces on a dejarik board."

Finally, as if she can no longer contain her own feelings, Atris lifts one finger to point at me. "Do not try to blame me for your failings, Exile. It was you who betrayed the Jedi teachings! It was you who allowed the war to go on, who saved Revan when we would have brought him in for justice!"

_What is she talking about…? _But then I remember, I remember an attack on Revan by three Jedi Masters. Malak and I had been far away, commanding different task forces. But through our bonds, we had lent our strength to Revan, strength that he shouldn't have needed. _Why then, had the Jedi Masters almost succeeded? _And then, fighting through what seemed to be deliberately blurred and distorted memories, I finally find the answer.

_Because the Jedi Masters had built fail-safes into us, so that they could restrain us if we got too out of hand. But who took that memory from me? Or was it Malachor?_

When I return my gaze to the present, but she takes a step back, her eyes widening. But before I can wonder what she sees, her face turns angry again, and her eyes are like cold, hard diamonds bursting with edged power. Perhaps I should be scared, but my anger matches her, and I walk towards Atris, closing the gap between us.

"I know what you tried to do to Revan," I say, almost yelling as I close in on her.

"How dare you?" Her bearing and emotions grow hotter with each step I take towards her, until a part of me expects her to start melting, revealing pure flame beneath her icy exterior. But all that power doesn't scare me; instead it becomes a beacon that draws me ever more forward, until I stop, now only a breath away from her.

"Do not speak to me of treachery, Atris, when the Jedi Council has delved into it so thoroughly. What you did to us, with those fail safes, would make a Sith proud."

"How dare you! Who are you to judge us, when it was _your_ actions that killed tens of thousands at Malachor. Who tore the Force asunder , and sent out the Force echoes that sowed the seeds for the corruption of the Jedi Order. You, Xi Lan, more than even Revan and Malak, destroyed the Jedi."

"How can you say such a thing!"

"They loved you, Xi Lan, Revan and Malak. They would have done anything you asked of them." As she utters these words, Atris' face grows more and more exultant, as if each blow she lands on me is a victory for her. "You, more than anyone else, could have stopped the Jedi Civil War with a word, a fluttering of those pretty eyelashes of yours, or whatever it is you did to corrupt them in the first place."

I raise my hand to slap her, but she freezes it in place with glance, her tirade continuing uninterrupted. "But what did you do instead? You came to us, looking for _forgiveness_, asking us to take the deaths of tens of worlds from your shoulders. Did you really expect us to absolve you of your crimes, to wave your guilt away as if you hadn't condemned the most important people of the galaxy to die? Do you understand the depth of your folly? Let me try to make it as clear to you as possible."

And then Atris draws herself up, unleashes her power until the very walls around us glow with Atris' austere light. Winds whip by me, wailing as they tug me back and forth, and they carry her words right through the centre of me. "All that is left of the Jedi, Exile, stands before you now. When I die, so will the Jedi. And who will protect the galaxy then, from chaos and destruction."

"No…" _No, this can't be right! _It was like a splash of cold water, washing away the anger within me. _They can't be all dead. Kavar dead? Tebbo and Yusara, who helped me train Padawans on Dantooine, and soldiers in the war? Vandar, Vrook, Zhar… how can it be possible? Could I have really caused all this? Could I… _

"That's why I will always keep these, Exile." Reaching behind her back, Atris pulls out two lightsabres, lighting them in that fierce, purring sound that I only now realize I've miss so much. I step back, very aware that I lack weapons, ready to run if she attacks me.

"I have kept these so I will never forget what you did, and are still doing. I keep them as a reminder of what can happen when passions dictate actions and when good intentions are used as excuses to mask terrible wrongs."

"My lightsabres…" I whisper. The blades are sky blue, a color I had chosen to remind me that, no matter how tough the battle, beauty still remains. The hilts are a deeper blue, reminding me of cool water and light play.

"Do you want them back?" she asks, her voice mocking me as I lean towards these relics of my past. "Would they help you kill more innocents, to do it all the faster? Which world were you planning to inflict your curse upon next, Xi Lan? Or will you not stop until the whole galaxy is a wasteland?"

"That's not…"

"Fair, Exile? And how fair was it for all those who have died because of you? How fair is it that all those young Padawans have been killed by the Mandalorians, Revan, Malak—"

"Stop it!" I scream, and then the only thing I see is the flickering light of Atris' soul and the two rods of delicious power that float nearby. My hands whip out, summoning the blades to me and they rip themselves out of Atris' grip as if they had not rested there for a decade, leaving only the heady scent of her despair. As soon as the blades touch my hands, they blacken, and then transform into something beyond darkness, tongues of a hunger that knows only what is consumed, and what will be. But I barely notice the transition, am untouched by fear growing in Atris' core or the bridge that now buckles under my feet. My attention is on a different plane, an expanding vision in which an empty space is filled by the thousands of sparkling motes of life, circling one another on the surface of this near lifeless rock.

It would be so easy to end the hurting words that Atris still wants to say, to end her. Atris backs away rapidly, her soul now dancing in a panic as it recognizes the seeking touch of its doom. I can feel her calling her power to her, but it is nothing to me, nothing compared to what I will be in a moment's whim. Just a little pull here and an unravelling here, and the power of this world will be mine, more than enough to crush and consume this brittle, enraged woman who had once called me "her only friend." More than enough to take her power as mine. All I would have to do is touch her, _Here…_

_No!_ shout the thousands of voices that circle the wound inside me, jolting my mind from the roiling thunderclouds and howling winds of the hunger that stretches outwards from my soul. _It's not the way of a warrior_, Toxel's gruff voice says in my ear.

_How…_ I realize that he's dead, and that I've known for a long time, though I've not wanted to admit it. _But why is he here, with me and the dead of Malachor? _

I can almost feel his strong hands shaking me roughly, demanding. _Get a handle on yourself, girl. Deal with the present before you worry about the past._

It's just what I need.

I can taste Atris' confusion and uncertainty when I begin to smile, but her weaknesses are no longer the sustenance I seek. I begin to push the snaking tendrils of anti-life back within me, start reconstructing the walls that have held the wound within me all these years. The wound resists, trying to tempt me with visions of power unlimited, of sweet revenge on all those who have wronged me. With answers to questions forgotten, like what was stolen from me. But the price is too high, and so I keep drawing it back into me, accepting once again the pain of its co-existence with my soul. Accepting once again my role as guardian of all those who died at Malachor V.

It seems to take forever, but is finished in a moment. A moment almost too long for Atris who, scared and sensing a hesitation in the power that had stalked her so ferociously before, reaches out and strikes back at me. Her powerful probe is consumed in an instant as the hunger roars back out towards her, its greedy claws grasping for her life force and beginning to feed.

"No!" I shout, my hand cutting through the air, and the void is gone, as if it had never emerged. Atris sways, then catches herself while I marvel at the sudden touch of the cleansing light, a cool breeze, and the simple pleasures of human emotion felt inside and out.

"No." I say again. My words feel as insubstantial as the wind and I wonder if Atris can hear my voice. I wonder if she's still here, for I have no sense of time, just sensation. "I make my own choices," I continue, not sure if I'm talking to Atris or the hunger inside of me.

My gaze slides to the blades in my hand. They have returned to their original blue colour. _They are so beautiful, so innocent in a way, and I miss them terribly. But the power in them is calls too sweetly to the hunger within me._ _I need to set these weapons aside._

_How does one say goodbye again to a part of one's soul. Should I bury them in Atris' warm body? Should I drive them into the stone_, as _I did so long ago_? But I don't want to treat my lightsabres that way. Not again. They have already suffered one violent rejection from me in Coruscant, when I tossed them aside in anger and fear.

Sitting down, I place the two blades down on the ground and then place one hand on each lightsabre. I don't want to use the Force, because I'm too scared of letting loose the horror inside of me again, so I settle for stroking my old weapons with my fingers, hoping to communicate through touch alone the love I feel inside. When I'm sure that I've done my best, I slowly disassemble them, tossing bits and pieces over the side of the bridge until all that remains are two simple crystals. _I will make you into something beautiful_, I promise them, and then smile when I see a small glimmer pass across each gem. Satisfied, I tuck them away in my pocket.

The hissing sound of the retracting blades of a lightsabre is like a crash of thunder on a clear, sunny day. It yanks me from the place of peace in which I had rested to the harsh reality of the moment, reminding me of Atris and the near battle we had fought. Looking up, I see that she has another lightsabre in her hand, this one fitting far better in her hands than mine did.

"That is the first wise thing I have ever seen you do, Exile, in a long—"

"Enough," I say, projecting my voice enough that it almost slaps her. Perhaps Atris means those words kindly, but I can barely contain the anger that threatens to unleash itself again. _I don't need any more lectures._

"I've had enough of you and the others trying to tell me what to do, what is right and good and fair, Atris. I am only to blame for the errors I made, not anyone else's."

"You say I should have influenced Revan?" I scoff. "It is the height of foolishness to suggest that I or anyone else could have had any influence over that twisted logic of his, which allowed him to betray me, to cast my soul adrift in this maelstrom I carry like… like a child never born." I feel a flash of pain shoot between my temples, but I push it aside. I won't allow the yawning maw within me an opening to escape again.

"As for Malak." _Oh poor Malak!_ "He was Revan's friend far longer than he was ever mine! He never would have turned against Revan, not for me, not for anyone."

"And yet he did—"

"Have you ever known something to be true, despite everything to the contrary, Atris? Well, I will tell you here and now that Malak never turned against Revan. Don't ask me how I know this, but it is the truth nonetheless. Malak betrayed me, but never Revan."

Written clearly across Atris' face is disbelief and scorn, and yet somewhere underneath, I sense something almost like… agreement.

It is another instance where I sense that Atris' nature seems divided. When I had known her before, so many years ago, I had sensed little of the masks that most of us where, the exterior hiding truths inside. But now it is there, and I wonder how much Atris has changed, what has gone on in her life since I left for the war, since she judged me in the Jedi Temple.

For a moment, I want to ask about the past ten years, to talk about other, inconsequential things. But all the questions I would ask seem to end in this doomed moment. _Did you take a Padawan? Yes, and she's dead. Did you make some new friends? Yes, and they're dead. Have you found something new about Jedi history? I no longer have access to those records, and there is no one left to care…_

But, against all logic, I still want to try. "Atris," I start, trying to make my voice gentle, empty of anything but the greeting of a friend long parted. "How did we…"

But Atris ducks her head, almost as if she's avoiding my words before she counterattacks, this one tinted with desperation. "You could have turned on Revan, you could have led a revolt! Many Jedi would have followed you."

_Time does not heal all wounds, after all_. I sigh, feeling again the weight of the past five years since I was last in Atris' presence. _How can I reach her?_ _Why is she so determined to accuse me?_

"Not at the end, Atris. Revan was too smart for that. He had me beaten even before I knew we could be on opposite sides. Even before the Jedi Civil War, we were all already defeated. We just didn't know it."

"You always have an answer, don't you Exile? It's always someone else's fault but the truth can not be avoided. Wherever you go—Malachor, Serroco, Dxun, and now Peragus—death and destruction follow."

She has hit upon my deepest fear, the one point I can't argue. Every place I go now seems to descend into chaos, into death and ruin. Ever since I've entered the Republic, ships, people, and even planets have been dying because of who I am, or what people think I am. Even when others seek to protect me, like Atton when we fled from Peragus, they only leave ruin in our path.

_But these are still the result of other's choices, as well as mine. To say otherwise presumes that I am all-knowing, or that others are not responsible for their own actions._ _I won't accept either claim._ And as I think these words, I feel a great lightness tingle up my skin, dispelling the years of heavy self-doubt and recrimination.

"Are we done here, Atris?" There is no point in trying to rebut her claims, for I know now that she will not listen, has never listened to what she doesn't want to hear. _Or is it just me who brings this out in her?_

"What makes you presume that I will let you leave, especially after that display of dark power before?" Her voice is unyielding, and yet I sense that she desperately wants me to leave. _ Did I scare her that badly?_

I don't really care what she's feeling, not anymore. I just want to get my friends, my ship, and leave here. Still, there are some words I need to say first, so that I don't regret not saying them later. "Atris, you were a good friend once and I will always treasure the memories of how you helped me when I was alone at the Academy. But that time is past and, as you have made abundantly clear here and at Coruscant, so is our friendship. So let me be clear. I am, as you insist on calling me, the Exile. And that means that I am no longer beholden to you, no longer subject to your judgement or the Jedi Code. Goodbye, Atris. Our paths separate forever here."

And with that, I leave. If she utters any words, I do not hear them.

&.

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**(Brianna, the Last Handmaiden)**

As the Exile turns away from Atris, I keep my eyes on my mistress. Her stance, the sharpness of her eyes, the slight slump in her shoulders, they all speak of an exhausting battle though no blow has been struck. In this moment, there is much I hope to learn from her. And about her.

I see a confusing mix of emotions flash across my mistress' face. It is the mark of a deeper, more subtle and more intense engagement than the one skirmish I observed from afar a few moments before. Strongest seems to be a deep, almost triumphant satisfaction. And yet, behind even that hidden emotion there lurks another, written in the way she breathes, the tilt of her arm, the placement of her feet. In my mistress is a deep aching regret, one that she seems unaware of. It is an unusual weakness in my mistress, a flaw in her purpose that I had not expected ever to see in the one who has always been the model of control that the true Handmaidens and I have sought to emulate.

I should learn from this moment, delve into this aftermath of confrontation until I have understood it, but my traitor heart—the weakness that makes me less than my half-sisters, that marks my tainted heritage—takes over and I speak, breaking the moment.

"Are you all right, mistress?" I ask, making my voice as solicitous and as caring as I know how. And yet, when I expect a reprimand or at least silence, my mistress surprises me by answering.

"The Exile brought up feelings... best left forgotten."

"Forgive me, mistress... but I must ask. The Exile... I have never seen another effect you so strongly. Did you care for her once? Was she once a—" I am going to say "friend" but Atris interrupts me, her voice and expression reprimanding me.

"The Jedi have no such attachments." I can almost hear her continue.

I nod briefly, but my mistress continues without seeing my acknowledgement of yet another failure. "The Exile is one who can bring out strong emotions and attachments in others. And yet, she does as she wills, and the galaxy, the feelings of others, they can burn for all she cares."

The intensity of her words surprises me, but so does the language of her body, because in this moment I see a deep ambiguity inside, as if there is a war going on inside of my mistress. As if some part of her wants to chase after the Exile, and bring her back.

_But that can't be, because my mistress has always been faultless in her devotion._ _It's probably just my overly sensitive feelings_.

And then, in the blink of an eye, the true incarnation of my mistress is back, of one unyielding mind dedicated to her cause. "But I will not let her make me doubt myself again. I go to meditate, please see that I am undisturbed."

"Of course, mistress," I say, "I will tell the others."

I'm not sure she hears me as she turns away and walks back to her chambers. Leaving, I run my fingers over the data chip in my hand. I will go the security room first, I decide, to put the data chip inside the holorecorder. I'm scheduled to practice with my sisters later today, and I want to record the session so that I can study it later.

&.

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&.

**(Toxel) Hope, Telos**

I find Atris again in a small cantina, though this one is very different from the one on the Telos Space Station. This humble drinking spot rests on the second floor of a small building on the outskirts of Hope. Its walls are riddled with generous open windows, which let in plenty of both sunshine and a warm breeze that smells of rich earth and fallen, damp leaves.

The aliens and humans inside it are dressed in warm browns and greens, and it is clear from the dirt on their boots that these are the people who are doing much of the work to rebuild Telos' natural environment. I sense much pain in this room, and yet overlaying it a sense of peace that seems to permeate the entire establishment. The Force tells me that these beings are here for one main purpose, to seek healing through the act of creating a new world. I wonder if the next world that the Republic salvages will find many of the same workers on the ground.

I find Atris at one of the nearby tables. Surprisingly, she is dressed in blue overalls and a dark blue shirt, and her face has a smudge of dirt on it that would do any urchin proud. The sight is so incongruous, so unlike the Atris I thought I knew that I stop and stare at her.

Like the others, there is a light calm to her that masks a deep pain. She is slouching slightly over a steaming stew, smiling as she listens to a Rodian dressed in blue overalls recount some story that I can't hear. Looking at her, with half my sight still buried in the words and images that I've just finished writing. I also realize also that her skin is tanned, a brown so light that I hadn't noticed until now.

At that moment, Atris sees me, and for a brief moment a dark cloud rises up from inside her to cover her face. But then she shakes her head, sending her hair, which I now realize is hanging free, swing gently back and forth. Then she smiles, and beckons me over to the table.

Atris introduces me to the others, and we soon enter a light conversation about the progress of the restoration on one of the nearby ridges. The time passes quite pleasantly for an hour, and then the others excuse themselves, saying that they need to return to their work. One of them, a red Twi'lek that is missing one of his lekku looks at Atris, clearly wondering whether she will be joining them or not.

Atris looks at me, and then raises her hand, begins to say that she will not join them, but I interrupt.

"Can I join too?"

The smile that Atris gives me is worth the pain and tightness of tired muscles that are to come.

Later, when the sun is almost ready to set, the others have begun gathering around a small campfire. Some are cooking, others are putting up tents, cutting wood, or passing the plates and utensils for our meal. Atris and I have walked off to a nearby hillock, about twenty metres from the camp. We've been watching the sun set for the past fifteen minutes or so, enjoying the moment together silently.

"How long have you been doing this?" I ask finally, when the sun has set.

"Since the day your mother defeated Kreia and lost to Revan on Malachor. This has been my exile, my place of refuge where no one would think to find the pristine scholar Atris." Though the words are self-mocking, I sense a deep contentment and pride underlying them. "The years have been long and the work hard, but the results are beautiful.

"Sometimes the other workers and I stay here instead of going into town." Atris keeps her gaze facing towards the horizon, and I do the same. It feels easier to talk this way, less intimate and safer after all that has been shared between us. "I don't know how we do it, but we always know when we're going to stay here without exchanging a word."

"Maybe there's more to the Force than just our flashy moves and pyrotechnics," I say without thinking. I think it sounds trite, too easy to say, but Atris nods her head instead of laughing.

"Yes, I think that's what I've discovered too. It was one of the hardest things I had to learn, especially," and her voice takes on a light sarcastic tone, "since it couldn't be discovered in a book or holocron. I only understood when I stopped using the Force, when you mother exiled me as I had her earlier. And don't ask, Toxel," she says, forestalling my question, "you will learn about that soon enough."

I'm frustrated, I want to know now, but I can find no way to bring up the subject that I believe will get past Atris' reluctance. And I will not, and probably can not, compel an answer from her.

As the silence stretches on. I begin listening to the noises around us. It still feels too empty, too similar to Tatooine for a lush planet as this, but there's a sense of growth, of unfolding too. I find myself getting lost in the listening, so that it takes me a few moments to drag myself back to the hillock when Atris starts talking again.

"I have not used the Force since I began to work here," she is saying, her voice wistful, "unless you count that pathetic attempt to tempt you back at the space station cantina. For all my training and knowledge, I had to fall, be exiled, and give up the Force before I understood what your mother always knew."

Atris pauses for a moment before she continues. "The books, the holocrons, the Masters all say that the Force is alive, but I never understood what that meant until I allowed myself to be alive. To be a person rather than a Master, heroine, or villainess. I could never have found it without Xi Lan."

"Do you still love her?"

"Yes, as a memory, an icon of something good and beautiful. But no as a potential lover. Even if she is alive and… unattached, I would not seek a relationship with her. I understand now that she was never destined for me. If Malak was still alive, I would say that only he deserved her, but now… well maybe you'll tell the story of how she fell in love with someone else. Or maybe not."

"But why Malak? After all that happened, I think few people would point to him as the one for her, let alone anyone else."

"I would like to say, Toxel, that I have access to wisdom that the others don't. But the truth is that I've been reading your books. I'm sorry," Atris says, turning her gaze towards me, "I should have asked first, but you left them out in the open and—"

"Please, Atris," I interrupt, trying to be as gentle as I can, "I don't mind. I'm honoured that you would read them at all." She's given me so much of herself already, I can't begrudge her such a small thing. Besides, I spoke the truth. I am honoured.

Atris seems to search my eyes, looking perhaps for regrets or other negative reactions that I don't have. When she is satisfied, she nods and returns her gaze to the horizon. "Malak," she continues, "was true in a way that I think few of us could ever be."

"Yes, that's what I feel too." And then I say something that has been on my mind for a long time. "I wonder…" I'm trying to find the right way to frame my thoughts, but the words start coming out faster and faster. "I wonder sometimes what would have happened if my mother had realized that sooner, if she had been strong enough and separated herself from Revan instead of Malak. Maybe things would have turned out differently—"

"Stop there, Toxel" Atris says, putting her hand on my shoulder. Then she shakes her head. "You are so wise sometimes I forget that you are young and vulnerable like the rest of us." Taking a deep breath, Atris continues, "Could Xi Lan have changed anything at the end of the Mandalorian War? I doubt it. Revan's will was too strong, even for Malak and Xi Lan combined, and his plans too well laid. Once Revan started down that path of his, I don't think anyone could have stopped him save himself. Certainly not your mother."

"But Bastila did, eventually."

"Yes… he's found a better match in that one." Atris chuckles. "She's so powerful and feels things so strongly, it's impossible for Revan to get complacent in that overbearing logic of his when she's around. And that's a good thing."

There's no response to that one, and the others are calling us for dinner, so I say nothing as we walk down to the campsite.

After a pleasant meal, Atris and I move back towards the hillock. As we sit down, the question that I've been wanting to ask for the whole day suddenly decides that it's had enough of my delaying. I open my mouth to ask it, but Atris is talking before I can say the words. She keeps her gaze squarely towards the activity of the camp.

"She was so broken when I saw her across that bridge, I was sure that I was doing the right thing. And yet, it felt so _wrong_ too, and that feeling kept growing every moment. Did you figure out how desperately I wanted to confess? And how desperately I hoped she would become someone I could despise?"

I interrupt her, the question has to be asked. "So when you told her all that stuff about how she could have stopped the disasters at Malachor and Peragus because…?"

"It took me a long time to truly understand what drove me that day. I was just trying to make her angry, to provoke a reaction of her that would then justify what I was going to do. No, that's not quite right…"

Atris stops for a moment, and takes a few deep breaths before she continues, her eyes gazing directly at me and all her defences down. "Even though I admitted it to myself years ago, it's still very hard to say. The truth is, Toxel, that I needed her to become someone I wouldn't love, someone who it would be okay to sacrifice. But I didn't succeed. She took everything I threw at her, and turned it something lovely. That was the truly remarkable thing about your mother, Toxel. Her ability to make beauty out of even the harshest trials."

And then Atris returns to her tale, once again looking off into the distance. "But I did succeed in pushing her, into making her angry. I was almost too successful. I got her so angry that she almost lost control of her wound. It was the most frightening moment of my life, and yet I thought it was a triumphant one too. Especially, after I survived," She chuckles for a moment, before continuing. "When I got her angry, and she showed me the dark power she held inside of her, I was finally sure that what I was doing was right.

And then," Atris sighs, "she went and ruined the moment. Instead of threatening me, or continuing our argument, she _completely_ ignored me.

"And all the love that I wanted so badly," Atris continues, the words now rushing out of her, "there it is right in front of me. In how she touches her lightsabres and takes them apart. In how she holds the two crystals from them, as if they were priceless treasures. In how she tries to reach out to me, as if I haven't spent the last half hour declaring myself her enemy.

"And I realized that all I was trying to do, all the power I had gathered to me and all the plots I had unleashed to "save" the universe weren't important. They didn't really matter at all," Atris whispers.

There is nothing I can say to the words or for the tears that silently track their way down her cheeks. Instead, I just sit beside her, thinking that this was the end of it, but Atris continues after a few minutes.

"I told myself that too much had already been set in motion, and that the fate of the galaxy was at stake. I scolded myself to be strong and ignore my doubts. But in my heart, I knew I was already doomed to fail.

"Remember this, Toxel, if you forget everything else," she says, and her voice becomes more intense, dragging my eyes from their idle wandering to her gaze. "Terrible crimes or glorious deeds, they only beget an equal response. But love, true love is a gift freely given, with no thought of reciprocation. That is the true gift of the Force, and the only thing that we can truly give back to it."

We stop talking, instead we watch the stars emerge. There are so many, because Telos' new atmosphere has no pollution and we are far from the weak lights of Hope. When it begins to get cold, Atris walks off, returning in a few minutes with a tent that I help her set up. Then, nodding to me, she gets into the tent where she has placed two sleeping bags.

I don't think I'll use mine though, because I want to examine the broken bracelet and the data chip that Atris gave me earlier. I want to see what else they can tell me. Besides my instincts are niggling me about the Last Handmaiden, and what role she might have played in my mother's tale.

Before I take up those relics of my mother's past, though, I take one long and very silly moment to wonder what it would be like to be in that tent, with the beautiful and far-too-old-for-me Atris. But I put that thought aside, for it seems to me only a path towards heartbreak.


	5. Chapter 5

**I WILL LIVE: PATTERNS OF BETRAYAL AND REDEMPTION III**

**Chapter 5**

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_**Thanks again to Trillian for a wonderful beta!**_

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**(Xi Lan) Telos Academy**

"Where are my companions?" I ask one of the Echani woman as we walk away from Atris. I want to get out of here as soon as I can, and concentrating on Atton, Kreia, and Bao-Dur seems more sane than thinking about Atris and my second exile.

"You will find them in the main irrigation channel room," the Echani says, "in the northern part of the plateau interior. The particle emitters there that once governed the flow of water to Telos can double as force cages." We reach the entrance chamber and she stops, her hand stiffly pointing towards a door to the right.

"So they are prisoners, then," I sighed. _So much worry for a few people with so little power_. "I trust they have not been harmed."

"They were caged for their own safety until we could determine your intent, Exile. Mistress Atris feared that you would use your allies to create a distraction."

_If Atris said that, she truly has forgotten who I am. Perhaps she has confused me for Revan or someone else a lot more clever._

"Your companions gave us little trouble, however," the Handmaiden continues, her tone indicating her disdain for me. But then her voice changes, just a little. "The male could have presented some challenge if he had resisted, but he chose not to."

_Is that respect I hear? Figures… _I know Atton's dangerous, but I had never thought I would hear warriors, especially those as stern and stiffly wrapped up into themselves as the Echani, rank him highly. "Why him?" I ask. "What's so special about—"

"It requires that you know what to look for," she interrupts me, talking to me as if I'm six years old and attending my first combat class. "We have some training in dealing with Jedi. You would have posed little threat."

"But why Atton?" I say, trying desperately to control my temper, which I thought I had left behind with Atris. It seems like everyone in this facility is trying to make me angry. If so, it's been working.

"He has had some Echani training. He masks it well, but when you were in danger, his mask dropped into a stance we know well."

"Atton?"_ An Echani! Well, that explains why he knows how to fight, but his personality, it's so different from the Echani here and… _ I see, for a moment only, images of hard white faces, unyielding warriors whose courage could have bolstered the other Republic troops if they had deigned to interact with them. I see other Echani, all women, striding purposefully side by side with members of Toxel's crew, their faces flushed from a battle in the practice ring, or under the sheets. _How could such a rigid, driven warrior people produce an "Atton"?_ I start to laugh, but the Handmaiden's eyes glitter so I struggle to control it. I only partially succeed.

"You are the one who is _mistaken_, Exile. It just requires you know what to look for…" The Handmaiden lets her words trail off, but the look she gives me clearly indicates that she doubts my perceptive abilities.

_Perhaps she is right_. "But to say that Atton is an Echani…"

"No," she says, her voice curt and impatient. Her facial expression clearly reveals that she thinks I'm a fool. "He's not an Echani. The Echani forms are known to be taught to military special forces throughout the galaxy."

"Special forces…" Atton as a member in the special forces seems ridiculous, but then I remember the dangerous man I had glimpsed beneath the joking, lustful façade.

"If the source of his training is a mystery to you," the Handmaiden chides me, "perhaps you should ask him. It would be wise to know those you travel with."

This last comment, and the tone of it, is the last straw. "What about me? Why wouldn't I have posed a challenge?" I am looking for a fight, and I think I'm going to get it from the sneer that forms on the woman's lips.

"We have trained extensively to combat Jedi and…" she draws out the last word, "Sith."

"Let's test that, shall we?" I say. _I should be avoiding this fight, especially after what almost happened with Atris but moments ago, but I also _really_ need to wipe the smile of this Handmaiden's face. Besides, I could use the practice._

"I would welcome a chance to instruct you," the Handmaiden says, her voice as joyous as scorn can be. "I have been anxious to teach you many principles of combat ever since you invaded this place. We shall see if you have the endurance to learn the most basic of our teachings."

_Teach, huh? We'll see who teaches who…_ I open my mouth to ask where we should meet, but then I remember Kreia, Atton, and Bao-Dur who are still imprisoned. "My companions, I would see them first."

"They are in the north chamber."

"Then please release them." My teeth are clenched so tight, I think I could snap durasteel right now.

"It is not part of my duties. Free them yourself."

"Fine! Then where shall we meet?" I barely hear the woman as she describes how to find the training chamber. I'm too busy imagining smashing my face through the back of her head.

"I will meet you there in half an hour."

"And I look forward to it. We have not had another… "target" for some time. You may prove a pleasant diversion."

Unable to help myself, I twist the three middle fingers into a rude Mandalorian hand gesture and raise my hand at her departing back. Then, my anger barely subsided, I turn towards the chamber where I will find Atton, Kreia and Bao-Dur.

As the Echani had said, they are all sitting in crude force cages. Kreia sits in a meditation pose, but quickly stands as I enter. Bao-Dur is lying down and so, surprisingly, is Atton. After turning off the power to the cages, I quickly move to Bao-Dur and Atton, but both are breathing steadily. Atton starts to wake up as soon as I touch him, but Bao-Dur needs my help to stand.

"Do all these women look alike?" Atton says, as his gaze follows one of the Handmaidens in the corridor behind me. "Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm complaining. I mean, it's... well, it's, uh, interesting."

"They are Echani," Kreia says, "It is not unusual for the children of the same parents to share similar features." Kreia sounds almost like she's chiding Atton, as if he should know the answer. _I wonder what she knows about Atton's special training. I will have to ask her later, behind a locked door where Atton can't sneak up on me. _

"We are free to go," I tell them, "why don't you all go to the ship and I'll meet you there in a moment."

"Wait a second… why are you staying?" says Atton, his voice filled with suspicion.

"I…" _Frack, I should have prepared for this!_ "I have… um… a training session with some of the Echani."

"A training session, huh?" Atton's face turns very serious, worried, and I find myself fascinated by these uncharacteristic emotions on his face. "Look, sister, a training session with the Echani usually means a few broken bones, unless they like you." He searches my eyes for a moment before continuing. "So… do they like you?"

"Not really, and I have to say the feeling is mutual," I say, crossing my arms.

"And because you like me so much, you're about to give me a free display of Twi'lek mud-wrestling? Because there's something about Echani duels that you—"

"No," I interrupt, "I don't want to know." Atton thinks for a moment, and it almost looks painful for him. I guess he's marshalling some arguments to tell me why I shouldn't fight with these women who are much bigger and stronger than me. But I don't want to be convinced. They've been pushing all my buttons and I'm just so tired of people not respecting me, of people feeling like they can just take and take from me. _Well, no more._

"Atton… why do you care so much anyway?" I had meant to tell him to just let me do my thing, but there is something about the way he is looking at me that makes the question jump to my lips.

"Umm…" It's one of the few times that I've seen Atton speechless and it makes him look as cute as a Fustairan poodle. But I don't need cute now, because that will take away some of this anger and I'm tired of being the nice one who walks away.

"Look, Atton. If they want to wrestle in the mud, that's fine for me and good for you. So what's the problem?"

"It's your call, sister. Just give me a moment to get an ale so that I can enjoy the show."

Atton looks at me for a long moment. I don't know if there's a joke I've just missed or if he's expecting me to fall to my knees and beg his forgiveness, or what. I don't really care. I just want to finally earn that Mandalorian tattoo that Toxel gave me so long ago.

Finally, Atton sighs and shakes his head. "Bao-Dur," he says finally, turning towards the Zabrak, "check the ship and get it running, will you."

"And what do you think you will be doing in the meantime?" I ask Atton, glad to see that Bao-Dur ignores Atton and looks at me.

"I'm coming with you, sis--"

"And I suppose you're coming too, Kreia?" Kreia doesn't bother to answer.

I'm trying to keep my voice as relaxed and level as possible, because I don't know whom I more mad at now, the Handmaidens or my "crew."

I pull out a basic medpac and give it to the Zabrak. "Bao-Dur, could you please get us ready to leave?" After the he nods, I add, "And can you look for our droid on the way out?" Again he nods, and then starts to turn away. "Oh, and Bao-Dur?"

"Yes, General." Bao-Dur's voice is gentle, but the look in his eyes is fierce, and I see there that he understands what I need to do.

It relaxes me a little, and inspires me. Reaching up, I pull his cheek into a small kiss. "Take your time," I say into his ear. _Take that, Atton Rand_.

Bao-Dur gives me a small squeeze on my arm before he walks off. Turning away from my self-appointed watchdogs, and making sure that I don't look in Atton's direction, I walk back towards the training chamber.

It's hard to tell which Handmaiden is waiting for me on the training mats as I arrive in the large, bare room, but I assume it's the one I challenged earlier. Five other Handmaidens are standing to the sides. From the looks on their faces, I guess they think that they are going to watch me get pummelled by their sister. I'm not sure where the other one is, the one who looks different, but the only thing that really concerns me right now is getting rid of the frustration and anger that they have lit in me in this cold, unwelcoming place.

"So," I say, stepping onto the mats, "what are the rules?"

"First of all, you must divest yourself of all but the barest minimum of clothing."

"What…?"

"We Echani practice and fight without armour. To do otherwise is to fight without honour."

"These are just a shirt, pants, and a jacket I'm wearing. Surely that's the same as your robes?"

"I will disrobe too, so that you feel it's fair," the Handmaiden says, as if humouring me.

_I'm so going to enjoy "teaching" her._ "Keep your damn robes on," I say, taking off my jacket and then stripping down to my bra and panties. "Is this okay or would you like to check for armoured plates?" I say, lifting my bra and breasts for their inspection.

I had forgotten about my companions until now, but Atton reminds me of their presence when he stifles his laugh.

No," the Handmaiden says, with a slight mocking smile, "it's clear that you have no extra… padding."

"Ouch," I hear Atton whisper as my face flushes. It seems that my self-appointed guardian is already getting his revenge.

I am a striking contrast to them: slimmer and shorter, much dark and showing signs of age. The Echani women opposite me are full bodied—with wide shoulders and strong legs—and voluptuous, their breasts high and large and their wide hips.

And then, at the back of my mind I hear a whisper, "Weapon mounts," and I remember Toxel and his tales of his "Echani nights." Somehow, though I had always fallen short in comparison even then, that makes me feel better.

"Good, then let's go on with it. Any other rules? Do I have to fight backwards or walk on my hands?"

"No, but you might want to divest yourself of all that… jewellery," the Handmaiden sneers. "I will not hesitate to use them against you in battle."

"Let's just get on with it." My fists are clenched now, my body is leaning forward and my eyes are starting to see red.

The woman ignores my growing fury, her face unmoving as she states the rules. "We will start with the basic movements. You will fight without weapons and I will use only the most rudimentary forms of our training. Victory will be established when one person is knocked out or forced from the mats. Any questions?"

"Yeah," Atton says, "where can we get some medpacs?"

"We will try not to harm your girl too much."

To my mortification, and fury, Atton begins to nod before hesitating and glancing in my direction. "Um… no, I was thinking about you," he says to the Handmaiden, giving me his "best" smile.

Neither the Handmaiden nor I are fooled.

"Anything else?" I say, barely restrained now. _I'll show them. And you, Atton._

"No. Are you ready?"

"Yes!"

"Good. Then begin."

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**Toxel. Hope, Telos**

"Atris?"

"Hmm…" she mumbles, distracted by a hot cup of kaffa and a datapad with the local holonews. Sitting outside on the small porch that comes with our room, she is dressed in the same work clothes as before, though her hair is bound up now in a loose bun. The sun is just rising, cutting her face sharply into shadow and light.

Since the day Atris showed me the restoration work, she has stopped wearing the austere whites I had grown familiar with. I wondered why she had hid this from me before, and what made her choose to reveal it to me now. Was it just an accident, because I had found her in that cantina? Or had she simply decided when she would let me find out.

And how does she do this to me? She's shared so much of her soul with me, by choice and involuntarily, and yet she remains impossible to decipher, a mystery.

I had often thought of what might have happened if my mother had chosen Atris as her mate instead of Revan and Malak. But I realize that Atris is right; they were not meant for each other. The woman on my porch right now, I don't think that the Xi Lan could ever have appreciated her. Atris is too hidden, has too many layers and my mother, or at least the one I know, worked better with direct, straight-forward people like Malak and Toxel.

Atris puts down her kaffa and datapad, then stretches her back while letting out a long contented sigh. The stark lines of her, the dark-light contrast that seems to suit her so well, they mesmerize me until she relaxes from the stretch and turns to face me.

I feel like a gizka caught in the headlights of a speeder.

"You were asking something, Toxel" she says, her words pushing my confusion softly away like a cool oasis breeze cleans away the day's sand and sweat.

"Why did you give me the chip? Why do you want me to know about the Last Handmaiden?"

"That chip doesn't only tell you about the Last Handmaiden, Toxel. It contains the holovideo of the fights between my Handmaidens and your mother just before she left my complex. I thought you might like to see that."

I have never seen my mother through anything but another's eyes. To see her, for the very first time, through my own eyes, or the closest thing to it… I don't realize I've left Atris until I've run halfway to the _The Sour Twi'lek_.

And then, just a thought later, I'm standing before the ship's holoprojector, with the datachip in my hand. A chip seems so small, so ordinary and yet it carries the weight of sixteen year's yearnings.

What will it be like to see my mother through an objective eye, not coloured by the emotions of another but just there, for my own eyes to unpack and experience? It scares me a little, but gathering my will, I put the chip in, even as I hear Atris' quiet footsteps enter the room behind me.

Atris doesn't say a word, just guides me gently into a chair as my eyes bury themselves into the images emerging from the holoprojector.

&.

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**(Xi Lan) **

The Handmaiden walks towards me casually, making it clear that she does not consider me a threat. I let her come, getting into a ready pose, trying to keep my fury in check because I know it's not wise to fight out of control.

When she nears me, the Echani woman feints with a punch, and then spins around to kick me with her right heel. She does it easily, showing a real grace, but it's a move that one would only do against a novice. I duck under her foot and then step towards her, faster than she, or I for that matter, thought possible. Before she can recover from her spinning move, I grab her head and ram my forehead into her nose.

Blood bursts from her face as she collapses to the ground, unconscious.

The room is silent as I stand over the vanquished Echani. My fury is barely abated, but I don't try to hide the satisfaction from my face. "So, Atton," I ask turning towards him, "are you going to give her that medpac?"

"Depends. Are you going to keep fighting?" His face does not mirror the satisfaction or triumph that I feel; instead he is looking at the Echani as they drag their sister off the mat.

It takes all my self-restraint not to walk over and deck Atton.

When I return my gaze to the training mats, the first thing I notice is how quickly they absorb the blood. It is clear that there will be no stain. _I guess they are prepared for blood loss in their training._

Part of me is worrying that all this rage that I'm feeling is a product of the wound, another attempt by it to escape. But it doesn't feel the same, the anger that I'm feeling requires a different sacrifice than the souls the emptiness in me demands. All I want know is to, as Toxel would say, "paint my fury in blood on the faces of my enemies." Whether the Handmaidens are my enemy in truth, their behaviour has declared them such in my heart.

"Your sister mentioned rudimentary forms," I say to one of the remaining sisters. "Does that mean you can do better?"

"Oh yes, Exile, our sister was perhaps a little over-confident and so did not demonstrate our techniques as best she could. We should amend our error. I would be happy to teach you some of our more advanced techniques, if you are willing?"

"Why else would I still be standing around half-naked in this frackin' cold place?"

"At this level," the woman says, disrobing and then walking on to the mat, "you are allowed to use weapons but not your… 'Force.' Victory is achieved in the same ways."

Like her sister, this Echani has a fine form, nearly bursting out of the undergarments. I quickly glance over at Atton, who I discover is staring very intently at the Echani woman, and I can't help but feel a little jealous. I'm used to being the one he undresses with his eyes.

Turning my gaze quickly back to my opponent, I gesture for her to begin. She smirks, and then pushes her chest forward for a moment, clearly enjoying my predicament.

"Now?" I say through gritted teeth.

Nodding, the woman crouches, moving her left foot in front and raising her hands forwards. _At least she's treating me seriously._

The Echani's defined stance reminds me of how untrained I fight now. Somewhere inside of me, in places I can't find, are techniques for forms of combat that should match those of the Echani, but until I find them, all I know is the roughhouse style of the Mandalorians. With my right side forward, I advance on the woman with my hands near my face and my elbows in.

"Left handed? Good, we need that kind of practice," the woman says, before launching herself at me with a series of fast hand blows.

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**(Brianna, the Last Handmaiden)**

I had expected the Exile to fall in the first battle with Eldest Sister, and like my sisters I was shocked at the quick end to the bout. _She was too over-confident, we all were…_ And yet, it makes me feel better, because for once, it was not me failing but one of the others.

Once I realize what I am feeling, I feel ashamed, and I almost turn off the viewscreen in the security room in which I watched the bout. I been banished here; one of my sisters had told me not to taint the training session. "We don't want you to become too excited and ruin the session," she had said, "just because there's someone in the room that you can actually beat."

But as I hesitate, I hear the Exile challenging another of my sisters, and I can't help wanting to see how the next bout will turn out, and whether the Exile can beat a Handmaiden who is prepared.

I also find myself glancing at the man and woman who accompanied the Exile. There is something about them, something hidden that no one seems to see but me. Around her, there is a feeling of muted power, like and yet unlike that of my mistress. And him, there is something familiar about him, or in him, something more than the Echani forms he must have learned in the Republic army.

But then the match begins, and I watch as Second Sister drives the Exile back across the mat with the second form attacks. The Exile doesn't seem to know how to respond, and I think she's going to be driven from the mat when suddenly she feints right, and then ducks left.

The Jedi, or whatever she is now, doesn't have time to counterattack before Second Sister is on her again, driving her back. Finally, almost at the other end of the mat, the Exile ducks under a high attack and jabs her fist at her opponent's torso. That's a mistake, I know, especially in this form.

I can sense Second Sister's satisfaction as she slams her elbow down on the Exile's temple, driving her into the ground, the impact emphasized by the jangling of the Jedi's bracelets and necklaces. Before the Exile can recover, my half-sister is pinning her face-first down on the mat. But even though she is quite thoroughly trapped, the Exile doesn't seem to realize that she is defeated, squirming left and right trying dislodge her captor.

Perhaps my sister could use the Exile's necklaces to choke her into unconsciousness, but she chooses the easier approach instead, pummelling her opponent in the head with her fists. I know that she is only doing what she's supposed to do, but still I wonder at the dark satisfaction that seems to flit across Second Sister's face. Soon, the Exile's nose and mouth are as bloodied as First Sister's, but she still doesn't seem willing to give up.

_Perhaps she has lost control of her temper. She's seems to be just thrashing blindly now._ I almost leave the room, to stop the unnecessary bloodbath, but then with a scream that I can hear not only through the holovideo, but also through the halls, the Exile twists again, and somehow dislodges Second Sister.

As I watch the Exile stumble to her feet, and my half-sister casually gets to hers, I realize that it was the blood on Second Sister's hands that allowed the Exile to slip free. Still, the match can't go on much longer. The Exile is barely conscious.

_Still, she is determined_. The Exile is raising her hands now, gesturing her opponent forward and I find myself cheering for her, hoping that her determination will gain her victory where skill can not.

But courage can not win battles, and soon the Exile is once again limping away from Second Sister's attacks. Again, I expect her to stumble right off the mat, but at the last second, the Exile reaches out and grabs my half-sister's arms as she ducks under the attack. Falling backward, the Exile wedges her feet into Second Sister's torso and flips her over and off of the mat. It's a rudimentary move that an Echani would rarely use, because it puts the enemy at your back and gives them time and distance to recover. But it works here, because now the Exile is on the mat and Second Sister is not.

It takes a moment for everyone to understand what has happened, time enough for the Exile to stand up and then fall back to one knee. I wonder if she will fall unconscious, but finally her male companion is by her side, ready to jab her arm with a hypo-needle. But the Exile pushes him away, and then staggers to her feet again, where she wobbles for a moment before steadying herself. Then, in an act of defiance, courage, or perhaps pure stubbornness, she turns to the Handmaidens.

"Who's next?"

The man beside her bursts into laughter, thinking I believe that she's either kidding or delirious from all the punishment she's taken. His laughter dies quickly when she steps away from him, and towards my half-sisters.

Oh, how my heart stretches in this moment, this wonderful, beautiful instant in time when one wounded and fallen stands before us and is revealed a fledgling warrior.

And yet, the moment is quickly tainted. Instead of acknowledging the Exile's emergence, my sisters stand, unmoved and uncaring, as if they don't grasp what has happened. And I realize, suddenly, terribly, that they don't.

For a moment, I can hear my father's words, the ones he used to whisper to me every night before I went to bed.

_A warrior is never victorious or defeated. A warrior is never stronger, quicker, smarter, or luckier. A warrior is never better armed, with more powerful weapons or superior techniques. All these make more effective fighters, but they do not make a warrior. Remember this, my child, if you forget everything else. A warrior is one who brings everything she has to the battle. After you've battled a true warrior, you won't remember what she did or which armour she wore or what weapons she used. What you will remember is who she was at that moment, because that's what she brings to each fight. Her true self._

Alone in the control room, for once my traitor, out of control feelings express themselves without the mockery of the sisters. _Father_… Stern to the world, he was always gentle with me, often telling me stories until late at night, even when his eyes were red from crying over my mother.

_How did I forget what he taught me? When did I… when did _we_, lose our way?_

What I see in the Exile is, I realize now, a hint of a path that I've been searching for these past five years. The Exile is not there yet, but I see in her a woman who has taken a step in the right direction, one that I want to make too.

Such a simple lesson, but so easy to forget when we are sundered from our people. Inferior skills do not mean an inferior heart, they just mean inferior results. It is my lack of self-acceptance that makes me less the warrior, not my failures on the mat.

And if I want to become a warrior, maybe I need to follow the Exile rather than my mistress. Any maybe, I could help her too... But I push that last thought quickly down. I won't be foresworn, I won't follow the path of my father and my mother.

But I won't stop watching this screen either.

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**(Xi Lan)**

Part of my mind is begging for me to stop, to lie down. Part of my mind is screaming at me to dismember each and every Handmaiden. Part of my mind just wants the rest of it to shut up.

I know I should have lost the last bout, for the woman's skills had been far superior to my own. But I also feel that it was a bout that I should have won, easily. It's so frustrating, knowing that somewhere inside me, there is a person who understands the dance of battle, one who could match and surpass these Echani in the grace and focus of her movements. And I want that person back. I need her.

And I'm starting to feel, deep in my bones, that this may be the only moment to find her.

So I wait for another Handmaiden to accept my challenge, a sorry sight with blood streaming down her nose, one eye shut and half of her face swollen, her breath short from the deeply bruised ribs on her left side.

"I will meet your challenge, Exile." It's the first woman I fought, who had recovered now thanks to the ministrations of her sisters. "I would welcome the opportunity to correct my error. But I will not fight one in your state. Rest for a night, and I will fight you in the morning."

"I don't have the time to wait, and I doubt your mistress would welcome my stay."

"Then come back later, when you are ready."

"There are more ways to heal than rest, Exile," says Kreia. Somehow, she has placed herself at my side, though I never noticed her moving.

Healing. It's something that I hazily remember being good at, and it was one of the first things that I did with the Force, back on Peragus. Healing is a difficult skill, one requiring deep insight into the body and the manipulation of its complex systems. Could I heal myself now? Could I repair my eye, reduce the swelling in my face, stop the bleeding of my nose and repair the various bruises around my body?

"Wait. Give me some time," I tell the Handmaiden. Looking around, I choose a corner in the room and limp my way there slowly. Atton walks at my side, and I think he wants to support me, but I turn my body away from his hands when they start to move towards me, and he leaves me alone after that. Kreia follows silently, her eyes never leaving me. I feel like she's smiling, even though her face doesn't move.

_Healing_. I sit down gingerly, crossing my legs before leaning into the joining walls behind me. _How did I use to do that? _ I try to search for memories of what healing feels like, looking deep into my past to the time when I was truly a Jedi, but all that comes up are shattered memories of fights in the war, with people dying all around me.

But I won't give up, so I keep on searching, trying to concentrate on warmer feelings, and gentler times. And finally, a moment unfolds in my mind, one in which I am flat on my back on a cold floor of the Republic _Hetasta_, woozy in pain. Above me, Malak is laying his hands on me and then I'm feeling a fierce, protective warmth spreading from his hands throughout my body, driving my injuries away. The injuries that he had inflicted moments before, because he had been angry that I had gone into danger alone.

_So that is what healing feels like_. I try to find that same feeling inside of me, that fierce protective feeling, and it feels like it should be there but it isn't. It's as if it's hiding from me, or is hidden from me, and the more I strain, the harder it gets.

I stop, then examine that moment with Malak again, trying to find another way of understanding how he had healed me. It's hard, because his healing had come so quick, had flowed out of him without any conscious preparation or meditation on his part.

And maybe that's what I need to do. Maybe I just need to "heal" without worrying about how to do it.

I try again, just willing the Force to heal me, envisioning my body filled with heat, getting better, everything I can think of, but the Force doesn't, or can't answer my summons.

I never had much willpower, never had the strength of purpose that Revan or some of the others had, that enabled them to marshal such power with the Force. And I hadn't missed it when I was young, had never sought it because… because… The answer is important, it's floating around in my mind, just out of reach and I grasp at it, miss it, grasp again and again until tears of frustration roll down my face, until out of desperation I shout in my mind, "Please!"

And there is the answer. Because I always believed the Force is a gift, not something to be used. It was the teachings of my youth that told me that, some other system of thought or being separate and yet alike the Jedi.

I want to search for more memories, more understandings about what I used to know, but now is not the place or time. I have a fight to complete, should the Force be willing.

Taking a deep breath, I open myself up the Force, drop my barriers and then ask for healing.

The healing that comes is not the rushing gale of Malak's power, is barely of power at all. Instead, it is the gentle sounds and mist of a tumbling waterfall that slowly cools and soothes the burning aches of the fight before, a subtle rhythm of sound and touch that seems to slowly seep into me and cleans out the years of tension and loss. And I realize what I have done is not so really Force healing but something else. It is as if the parts of me, and the whole of me, have been subtly strengthened, reconfigured into a healthier… _Pattern_.

For one blessed moment, I feel almost _complete_ despite the wound that howls just around the corner of my mind. But that is one place where the healing can not go, and I push it gently away, thanking it for its help.

Opening my eyes, both my eyes, I find that Atton is snoozing a metre away, with Kreia beside him meditating. All of the Handmaidens are gone, save one who is stretching in the far corner. The lights in the room are dimmed and I hear very few sounds from the nearby rooms and corridors.

"How long," I croak, and then I clear my voice before continuing. "How long was I…" I'm not sure what to call what I just did.

"Meditating?" Atton says, flowing out of his sleep and onto his feet like a cat. And then is concerned eyes are bobbing from side to side as he checks out my face. Next, he looks at my exposed torso, his fingers lightly tracing the ribs where I was deeply bruised before. I try not to shiver at his touch, but it makes me realize how long it has been since I've made love to anyone.

"You did it," he says, wonder in his voice. Behind him, Kreia smiles slightly, satisfied, I sense, to see me grow in "power." _I won't disillusion her about the source of my healing, not yet anyway._

"Sith's nuts, we might actually survive this whole charade after all," Atton continues, pulling me to my feet. "Now tell now that since you've done this, you don't need to fight those sch… umm… Handmaidens anymore, right?"

"Calling them schuttas suits me just fine, Atton," I say. The smile on my face feels like it will burst into light or something, and Atton seems dazzled by it for a moment, before he gives a short barking laugh.

"Yeah, it does fit them. So… I guess you're figuring on one more walloping before we go?"

"What time is it?"

"It's early, the next morning. Most of the Echani have gone to get breakfast. You were, uhh… "out" I guess, for twelve hours."

"Are you ready for the next fight, Exile?" asks the Handmaiden in the room. She had approached us when Atton pulled me from the ground.

"I am."

"Good. I will gather my sisters," she says with a twist in her lips that I guess pass for a smile. "Be warned, Exile. This time, there will be no luck, no overconfidence or sloppy fighting. This time, you will face a true Echani." And then she turns and walks away.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," I say to her departing back.

"So, make it her who gets all the bruises this time, will you?" Atton says, his voice mock pleading. I sense an underlying concern there as well. And I guess it makes sense, since I didn't do very well against the previous sister when she was using only some of their advanced techniques. Still, I feel an unexpected warmth fill me, though I'm not sure if it's the fingers that still rest on my naked ribs or the concern I see written beneath the crooked grin on Atton's face.

"I'll do my best." I give his arm a quick squeeze where he holds me, and then I push his hand away so that I can begin stretching. The Handmaidens, save for the one who looks different, return later and one of them, whom I guess is my opponent, comes to the mat to join me in stretching and warming up.

Fifteen minutes later, the Handmaiden and I stop, knowing without words that it's time to begin.

As I walk slowly towards the near-naked Echani, I try to capture that sense of connection I had felt during my healing. I find it after a moment. Though it's not very strong, I feel gladder because of it, and I vow that I will listen to it when I fight, even if this Handmaiden is beating me to a pulp. _Maybe I can disconcert her by smiling like an idiot while she pummels me._

"What are the rules this time?" I ask.

She looks at me, puzzled I think by the calm that surrounds me, so different from my earlier rage. "You can use whatever weapon you like, but no other items. You may also use your 'Force.' I will use the full range of Echani techniques against you, including those that help protect us against your powers. Tell me when you are ready to begin."

My "Force." I don't dare try to touch that, but I hope this other forgotten sense that I have will help. If I can learn how to use it again.

I step back, until I am about three long steps away from her. I open my mouth to tell her I'm ready, but something is whispering in my mind, some instinct. And this time, I open myself up and ask it to come in, should it please. And when I realize what I'm supposed to do, I laugh.

"It's your lucky day, Atton," I say, turning towards him.

"It's got to be better than yesterday, when my ship was shot down and I was attacked by those droids," he drawls, the right corner of his mouth turning up, "Then there was getting locked up in a Force cage with only a cranky old hag for company while you're off walking around this paradise. Though the part about the half-naked wrestling wasn't…" But then he stops, his eyes getting big and white as I start taking off my bra and then panties.

"Catch," I say, tossing them at him. He fumbles them for a moment before he recovers from his shock and deftly gathers them in his hands. Though his eyes never leave me, to his credit they only dart down once or twice.

I'm sure he wants an explanation, but I don't know how to answer him. I also don't want to see Kreia's expressions, so I turn towards the Handmaiden, who looks both angry and puzzled.

Again, I'm about to say that I'm ready, but then, without thinking, I bend down instead, following my outstretched fingers until they touch and then glide along the surface of the training mat underneath. And I can feel something there, and I feel the peace within me grow, just a little bit more.

When I stand, my Echani opponent looks annoyed and impatient, Atton is going all Mandalorian over her curves and Kreia is looking at me, a slightly puzzled expression on her face that disappears almost before I see it. But none of that touches me.

"I'm ready," I say, turning back towards the Handmaiden, and without another word, she moves towards me. This time, her attacks don't come immediately. Instead, she moves towards me slowly, constantly changing the direction of her attack so that I have trouble keeping myself aligned with her. All the time, she stays just at the edge of her attack range, and beyond the range of my shorter arms and legs.

Part of me is screaming that I should attack her, but I feel deep inside of me that I should wait. I follow it, not caring if the instinct is right or wrong. I just want to feel what it's like to be in a fight where I'm following one voice, one set of instincts, one way of…. one way.

And I start to feel a rhythm, a flow to my movements that I have not felt before… no, that I've felt before but not for a long time. It's a pattern I feel, that touches my now unfettered skin, caresses it and speaks achingly of old understandings and joys lost. It speaks to me of a time when I used to dance with nothing but my blades every night.

I feel another sense unfold within me, until I can see how I am connected to the Handmaiden across from me, how strands connect us to those around the room. They quiver with each movement, growing thicker or thinner with each thought, breaking and rejoining. The pattern is constantly changing and… yet almost always the same, and there are layers of layers of it, each level similar to the other, but with greater complexity.

_And there's no power to it, nothing that the emptiness on me can feed on._ _Just… insight._

So lost am I in the wonder of my long forgotten understanding that I miss the first attacks by the Handmaiden. Perhaps she saw my vision go starry-eyed, or perhaps it was just that time, but the breath explodes from my body as she drives her knee into my stomach. But even as I cover myself from the next blow, an elbow across my face, I am shifting subtly, my weight lowering towards the balls of my feet and towards my right, so that the elbow only partly hits, much of its momentum guided by my forearm past my head. I step into the Handmaiden's passing arm, preventing the elbow from snapping back, at the same time driving my own knee towards the side of her thigh. She sees or feels my attack, because she lifts her leg so that my attack misses.

After that, it's a quick and brutal. We both recognize that to step away at this moment would open ourselves to the other's attack. Elbows, knees fly between us, often blocked or redirected by the other but often hitting too. Soon, so soon, we are both woozy from the bruises decorating our entire bodies. But the barrage continues.

Then her arms snake out, eluding my defending forearms, and grapple me, pulling me off balance, pushing me towards the ground. I resist, but her strength is so much more than mine and I'm starting to get tired. And I can't sense a way to fend off this attack.

_Use the Force_, I hear in my mind, but I ignore the suggestion. In this moment, I know that this is not the way I'm supposed to follow, that there is another solution and that if I take the easy path out, I may never find what it is I'm seeking.

Suddenly, she shifts one of her arms and an elbow slams down on my shoulder, driving me towards the ground. She's all over me after that, arms and legs wrapped around me, inexorably gathering up all my limbs, consuming all my strength despite all my resistance.

_Why am I resisting?_

I don't know what the other option is, but I let go, relax, let her strength win, waiting only for inspiration or defeat. Though I'm nearly helpless at this point, the lack of resistance allows me to feel the subtle shifts in her movements as she wraps me up, feel the anger, aggression, and harsh discipline that she marshals towards my defeat.

And then my listening lets me feel the moment I need to escape, when the Handmaiden adjusts her weight to finish her domination of me. She is pulling back my right arm, to trap it behind my back. Instead of pulling against her, I accelerate the movement, throwing her slightly off the balance. In that moment, I wrest my body in the same direction, while pushing my other arm, which she holds with her other hand, forward to destabilize her even more. And then she is falling off to the side and my forearm, now free, completes my escape by ramming into the side of her jaw.

She rolls away and gets to her feet even as I spring to mine. Neither of us wait, moving directly towards each other. Just as she comes into range, she launches a series of quick punches at my head and torso, but I can feel them coming, feel their direction and rhythm, and where I fit into the dance. I step inside a punch that the Handmaiden directs at my eyes, using the momentum to drive my fist, with one knuckle extended, hard into her armpit. Her arm drops, just for a moment, but it's enough. My left hand, open now, strikes the other shoulder, turning her slightly and upsetting her balance. She tries to recover, but my right foot slams into her inner thigh, and then steps between her legs as the leg gives out from under her.

Her right arm tries to cover her face, anticipating that I will strike her there next, but I anticipate it, and accelerate the rising motion so that I push her arm over her shoulder. With my weight already between her legs and her elbow pinned above her shoulder, it is easy to start pushing her backwards and towards the ground. Again, she tries to regain her balance, but I can feel what she is doing, I can see how this dance will go. Instead of trying to pin her to the ground, I quickly step behind her, twisting her. She resists, and that's what I need. Her rigid arm is like a board for a moment, long enough for me to break it with a quick pull.

The Handmaiden still tries to fight on after that, but I never let her regain her balance, driving her out of the ring with a series of quick pushes and open palm strikes.

Again, my victory is met by silence, but there is a different quality to it. The Handmaiden's eyes are still hard, still hating, but the scorn and disbelief are gone, replaced by the probing inspection merited by a dangerous foe. Atton, too, is looking at me differently, his face thoughtful, but when he realizes that I'm watching him, his gaze slowly slides down my body. I think it's an instinctive reaction, one that is supposed to distract me from what I've seen, but I lived with Mandalorians too long to be bothered by the digging eyes of men.

And I kind of like it.

When I turn my gaze to Kreia, I see puzzlement and… respect on her face. But both disappear quickly, though she gives me the smallest of nods before disappearing behind her inscrutable mask.

These gestures are, I think, the best each can give me.

There is nothing more for me to do here, nothing more to be gained, and I want to be out of this place, off this planet, and on the _Ebon Hawk_ where I can use the 'fresher and then sleep for a day. After that, maybe, I will be able to figure out what I've learned here today, what it is that I touched the surface of in this last fight, what this idea of… _Qi… Oh yes, how did I forgot about that?_

Somehow, that's what I have to get back. Qi is the path that I need to walk, the road to understanding beyond power. _Which means that I have to find a private place to practice. _

For a moment, I think about healing the Handmaiden but then I turn away. _Let that broken arm be her lesson as the bruises were mine_. I turn to walk off.

"Umm… not that I don't mind the view, because my engines are charged and I've fuel to spare, but …" Atton drawls, holding out my clothes.

I'm feeling wonderful, bold and impulsive, so I walk up to Atton and give me a small kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," I smile into his dazed eyes, "but I'm enjoying the fresh air."

"Okaaay… well um… ," and then he pauses to clear his throat, "don't let me stop you."

_I have to be careful, or Bao-Dur or Atton might have a lucky night and I will have to put up with Kreia's nagging for a month or two. Or three_. Repressing the laughter that threatens to bubble up, I walk off, letting Kreia and Atton follow with my clothes and bags.

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**(Brianna)**

When my half-sister came to our small kitchen and told us that the Exile was ready, I had rushed to the security room from my sleep chambers, determined to record the video of this next fight on the data chip I had left there last night.

My purpose had been to see how the Exile would handle defeat, and so, like everyone in the training room, I am now stunned once again by the Exile's unexpected victory. Somehow, in that last fight, she transformed herself, became a skilled fighter where before only a mediocre and determined one had been.

The Exile is turning away from my sisters now. She is going to leave, and she is going to do it naked, without a word. Just like an Echani might after a great victory.

I realize that I may never get another chance for me to talk to her, and I so desperately want to know how she did it, what she found in the battle. I want to know the person that was in that last fight.

Without thinking, I yank out the datachip with the holorecords of the battles and then dash from the control room. I catch up with her in the landing bay control room, arriving almost out of breath just when she enters the room with her companions.

"What does it feel like?" I say, barely able to stop from gasping my question.

The Exile stops, her face blank for a moment and I realize that I've pulled her attention from far away. I think for a moment she thinks about walking away from me without a word, but then her eyes search mine and her face softens a little.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"What does the Force feel like?"

"What does it feel like?" The Exile's face turns thoughtful for a moment, and then wistful. "I wish I knew…"

"But, what you did before…"

"Was something similar and yet different."

"Please! I… I have to know."

"What does it feel like…" Her eyes go blank, as if she's searching inside of herself for an answer. Beside her, the old woman's attention seems to be riveted on the Exile, as if she wants to hear the answer as badly as I do. "I hardly remember… I am more familiar with its absence now," the Exile continues, her voice very far away.

"But when you fought…?"

I don't think she hears my question, but a moment later she is speaking in a soft, sad voice. "Feeling the Force is like being in cold, clear water. The Force is all around you, it cradles you, holds you up. When you open your eyes to it, it reveals mysteries that the sun can never uncover unless you submerged yourself in it." She pauses for a moment, and then opens her mouth to say more, but the old woman interrupts.

"The Force is," the blind one says, her voice surprisingly reverent for one whose appearance speaks of quiet plotting, "like a cloud, a mist that drifts from living creature to creature, set in motion by currents and eddies. It is the eye of the storm, the passions of all living things turned into energy, into a chorus. It is," and now her voice grows dark, foreboding, "the rising swell at the end of life, the promise of new territories and new blood, the call of new mysteries in the dark."

The old woman pauses and I start to thank them, but then she interrupts, her sightless eyes boring into mine, "But perhaps it is its absence that we should talk about, for I think that is what you are really asking about."

Beside her, the Exile's looks puzzled, but then Kreia speaks words that pierce the loneliness in my heart, and drag it from its hiding place. "Its absence is like knowing what you want to say and never finding the words. It is a chorus that you know is there, just outside the silence, but that you can't find or sense. It is like hearing teachings but never understanding the meaning."

"It is like being in a dance, and never hearing the music. Like standing on the top of the mountain and watching your clothes flutter behind you, but never feeling a breath of the wind yourself. It is knowing that you stand alone, even when the entire world surrounds you," the Exile whispers, her grey eyes somehow almost black, haunted.

I am transfixed, their words are resonating, growing in my skull until there is no room for anything else but the feelings of loss that I have felt since I was young. But these are private feelings, and so I wall them away again under the mantle of my service, from which I have been straying too far I fear. "I see. Thank you, both. I appreciate you sharing your knowledge with me."

Still, when the women turn and walk away from me, my heart breaks.

When they disappear around the corner, I turn towards the training room, to see if I can find understanding and peace in my practice routines, but then I notice a broken bracelet lying on the floor. I pick it up, realizing that it is one of the many surprising decorations that adorn the Exile.

_Go with her_, a cool voice whispers in my mind when they are out of sight. _Follow and aid the Exile, Last Handmaiden. Your destiny, and the destiny of those who remain here, depend up on her. _

"Atris?" I whisper, but the voice is gone. There is no time for me to confirm her order, for I can see the Exile and her companions entering the landing bay below, and so I follow my instincts, trusting them as I have never done before and dash down the gangway. The gangway of the _Ebon Hawk_ is just starting to close as I approach the ship, and with a desperate jump, I tumble into the ship unnoticed by its crew. Just outside my senses, I feel a moment of satisfaction, and then the ship lifts and burns out of the landing bay.

&.

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&.

A/N:

1. Yes, I've (finally) broken canon here. My only response is, "Why should Brianna only go with the male Exile? She wants to understand the Force, as far as I understood her initial motivations. I don't think it was "lust/love at first sight," given what I saw in the game. Besides, her absence is only to make room for Disciple as the alternate romance, and that only because there's only room for 9 hench-people in the game mechanics. Besides, this was what my fingers wanted to write. though I did not plan for it.

2. For those who are sticking it through to the end, my thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

**I WILL LIVE: PATTERNS OF BETRAYAL AND REDEMPTION III**

**------------------------**

**A/N: **

… **Many thanks to Trillian for the excellent beta-read. **

… **As seems to be my habit, I'm using a section from my story "An Unexpected Memory" to set up Visas' entry into this story. Getting a chance to explore the back story in side chapters has been very helpful for thinking through where this larger story is going. It has been been modified to fit into this story and clarified/improved according to comments.**

**... Next chapter should come much more quickly.  
**

** Happy New Year! **

**BaM  
**

**--------------------------**

**Chapter 6**

**Toxel, _The_ _Sour Twi'lek_**

I wake, greeted by Atris' worried eyes hovering above me. "I need to get into the Telos Academy," I say and she shakes her head.

"You're okay then. I guess I shouldn't have worried, but then I've forgotten how long the young can stay up and how long they can sleep afterwards."

Somehow, I don't like her referring to me as 'young,' though it hadn't mattered to me before.

"Why is it so important that you get in the Academy?" Atris asks.

"Why don't you tell me what's in there, and then I'll tell you why?" Atris' expression remains friendly, but now it's still, a picture instead of the genuine amusement there moments before. Sighing, I continue, "Because the Force tells me that there is something very important in there. Besides, someone, maybe even you, is trying to hide something in there and I want to know what it is."

Atris offers her hand to me. I open my mouth to protest, but then I realize that I am still wearing my clothes from yesterday.

"I need to clean up," I grumble, mostly to myself, as I allow her to pull me out of bed. Looking at Atris, I see that she has already cleaned up, her skin glowing and the scent of her soap is fresh and plain, unlike the elaborate scents that Bastila always seemed to prefer. I have no direct experience with other women, but from what I can tell from the memories of my mother and others, that many women use more scented products.

_Why in the hell am I thinking about that?_

"Whoever designed the defences of the Academy," I say, pulling off my clothes until only my shorts remain. Atris carefully averts her eyes. "They put a lot of thought into how to prevent Jedi from entering. Not only any Jedi, but a powerful one I feel. And since there are so few powerful Jedi any longer, that must mean either Revan and Bastila, some new or unknown dark Jedi, or both."

"Not me, then?" Atris says, her voice colder, distant.

"Maybe you too," I concede. "I don't mean to slight your strength in the Force, Atris, for you are powerful. But, whoever they were thinking of is a lot more powerful than you or I. And that took a lot of planning and research, which means that whoever designed the system had something they really wanted to protect."

"Yes, you are likely right," Atris says. Turning, she gives me a small smile, though her eyes are sad. "Go get clean, Toxel. I'll brew some caffa."

As I use the fresher, I can hear Atris banging away in the kitchen. I wonder if I should go take over, for while Atris makes wonderful caffa, she's not much of a cook. Somehow she thinks meat and vegetables without spices is healthier. I keep trying to tell her that food can't keep the body strong if no one eats it, but she has ignored me so far.

When I'm done, the table is filled with some kind of thick porridge and some steaming mix of meat, Bontha I think, and vegetables. It all looks quite plain and I wonder whether there are any ration bars left over that I can eat afterwards. My sour musings are interrupted as a hearty, herbal scent steals into my nose and draws me to the kitchen table.

"It smells good," I say, grabbing a spoon. And it is good. It has a solid, homey taste that I've been missing since I stole away from my home, and somehow it makes some part of me relax that I didn't realize was tense.

I notice after a few minutes that Atris is stealing out of the small kitchen with something hidden behind her side. _It's a book_, I realize, seeing a corner peak out. Feeling mischievous, I snatch it out of her hands with the Force, pinning it down on the table with my weight and power before she can wrest it back.

I have to laugh when I see the title, _Simple Recipes for the Busy Woman_. Looking up, I see that Atris is doing her best to look nonchalant, but I've gotten to know her too well for her to hide the chagrin on her face.

"Well…" I say, carefully shifting the food on my plate, drawing out the moment, "I hope you will follow some more recipes from this book. This is good."

"I am not sure whether I am doing you any favours, Toxel, but if it will make you eat more…" Despite the reluctant words, I can see that Atris is pleased at my reaction. _And I want her to cook this way more often, so…_

"I think this book has brought out a real talent in you Atris," I continue, giving her my brightest smile.

Her eyes narrow, and then she smiles, but in a calculated way that makes me think I've made a mistake.

"Then it should help you cook a decent meal or two as well, Toxel," she says. "I look forward to seeing what you put together for our next meal here." Before I can figure out a protest, she leaves the room.

Chuckling to myself, I work on finishing the meal, even as I hear the engines of the ship warm up and the landing bay door close. _She's trying to cook for me, but she won't tell me where we're going and what we're doing. Was my mother ever this confusing to those around her? She sure had Revan and Malak running in circles for a while… Frack, who am I kidding. _

The brief image of Atris and I as a couple, it just seems so impossible, and I push it from my mind, concentrating on the meal in front of me.

I can feel winds battering at the sides of the ship as we land, so I guess we are somewhere in the north of the planet. _And that can only mean that we've returned to near the Telos Academy._ Even as I put the dishes away, I can feel the cold outside start to penetrate our ship.

I wonder if I should go ask Atris about why she has brought us here, but then I shake my head. _She will tell me when she is ready, so I might as well get suited up. It's early still and no doubt she will want to get ready._

And my prediction is true, for Atris joins me in the cargo bay shortly afterwards. She nods when she sees that I'm assembling my gear. Picking up a bag that sits near the door, she leaves to go to her room, even as I struggle to suppress the disappointment I feel once again, wishing despite my best efforts that Atris was as comfortable undressing as the other Echani from her former Academy.

We meet at the landing bay, both attired in full white winter survival gear and duraplastic snow shoes. "There isn't enough time for us to go to the plateau and return," I tell her after checking my chronometer, "and I don't have a tent."

"Lucky for you, I have one that is large enough for the both of us," Atris says, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth. Without waiting for my response, she pulls the snow goggles over her eyes and walks out of _The Sour Twi'lek_. I follow.

The walk is as long as it was the first time, but the going is easier once we take turns breaking the trail through the deep snow. I find my mind drifting as we walk, entranced by the soft white covering, the swirling flakes, and the silence that is broken it seems only by the mournful moaning of the wind and the dry crunching of our progress.

Finally, maybe an hour before the sun will set, we arrive at the base of the Academy's plateau. Pulling the goggles off her face, Atris starts speaking to me, but I can't hear her over the wind and the thick hood over my head.

"What," I say once I get closer, pulling off the hood.

Her voice louder and slower, Atris repeats herself. "I said, I think we should camp here tonight, and then try our luck tomorrow morning when we are fresh."

I want to ignore Atris and go on. The shield, and the mysteries behind it, call me to them, and the thought of just sitting around until next morning seems unbearable. But the part of me that has experienced war and adventure knows that Atris' advice is sound. I am tired and my thoughts are scattered in the winds.

Nodding to Atris, I reach towards the tent she pulls from her bag, intending to help her put it up. "Oh no you don't," she says. The satisfied grin on her face as she turns around makes me wary, and I groan when I recognize the title of the book she pulls out of her bag. Taking _Simple Recipes for the Busy Woman_, I start looking through the food supplies while Atris puts our tent together.

In the end, I decide to make a simple soup, which I serve with dark red bread and a green cheese made from the new crops of Telos. The sun is just setting when the soup is finished. The view is gorgeous, the sky's blue and the pure white of the snow combining to make a sharp, crystalline landscape that sparkles in the departing light, taking our breath away. The world seems to pause in those few minutes, until the last sun's rays turns the few clouds in the sky a brief orange and yellow. Atris and I both let out long sighs as the darkness finally descends.

"Pass me some soup," Atris says after a moment. After I pass her the soup, I start to ladle some into my own bowl. However, I spill much of it, because my eyes and my power keep a subtle watch on Atris to see how she will react to my creation.

After stirring the soup distractedly for a few moments, Atris takes her first spoonful, her eyes still watching the sky go through its last transformations. But then she stops, looking first at the spoon and then the bowl. Carefully, she lifts the spoon, lifting it to her nose first and softly inhaling. Then, her lips slowly part, and she slides the spoon into mouth.

I shift uncomfortably, my eyes suddenly trapped by the glimmer of the moon on Atris' wet lips, and how subtly move against each other as she swirls the soup back and forth in her mouth. Suddenly, it's hotter than Tatooine at midday, and I reach to open up a button on my jacket.

Atris turns towards me, and then hesitates when she realizes that I have been watching her. "This is really good," she says, a hint of wonder in her voice as she nods at the soup.

_Is that a slight blush on her face? I can't tell in this light!_

"Well," I start, taking a deep breath to calm the beating of my heart, I made a few modifications to the recipe in the book…" and then I stop, realizing that I've made a big mistake.

"Explain now!" Atris says, her face and eyes hard and her cheeks suddenly red.

_Well, there is nothing I can do about that slip._ So I tell her.

"Before Revan went off to search for my mother and the other threats he sensed, Bastila and he had always had someone else to cook for them. While Bastila waited for Revan to return from his journey, she decided to learn how to cook on her own. She thought she was ready when Revan finally arrived. After all the dust settled from… well you've read my book, she cooked the biggest and best meal she knew for him and me. I remember how proud she looked when she set the dishes in front of us.

"Well Revan put his years of experience in politics to good use, telling her how wonderful the food was, but I was still a child and so I told her exactly what I thought: it was horrible. Poor Revan. She grilled him for at least an hour before he owned up that he too thought 'it could be improved.'

"After that, Bastila spent some of the money Revan and she had accumulated from their adventures and the rewards from the Republic to hire some of the best chefs on Tatooine to instruct her. The chefs kept coming each year and, after a while, I discovered that some of the dishes were quite interesting and I got curious. So I started learning too."

Atris face is as still as our windless surroundings, and as cold. "And just how many meals can you cook that taste this good?"

"Well, taste is of course subjective…" and I try to smile but it's hard when Atris' eyes are like daggers aimed point first at me, "but I imagine I could put together quite a few."

"You... you…" Atris sputters for a while, and then her eyes narrow and I'm hit by a large, wet snowball from behind. Pulling up my hood, and my face full of a grin, I start to say, "I thought you had sworn off…" but then another snowball rises from directly beneath and plants itself into my mouth.

Using the Force, I whip several snowballs at my attacker, but they explode into powder before they reach Atris. And then I'm being lifted up and tossed, landing in a deep bank of snow a few metres away.

"You will cook from now on, Toxel," Atris says as I wipe the snow from my eyes. Her voice is stern, but as she turns to tend to our fire, I'm almost sure I see a small smile lighting her face. But the smile is gone by the time I join her beside the fire.

We sit at the fire for about an hour, saying nothing. Despite the silence, I feel a closeness growing slowly between us. I'm not sure where it will lead, though I'm now sure what outcome I want. I can't deny the attraction I feel for Atris now. _I want the impossible… if my mother could have Revan, Malak, and Toxel, why not me? _Bells ring in my mind, images of my mother's suffering because of her unwise romance, but they are drowned by the growing thunder of my blood.

And yet, slowly but undeniably, something is stirring at the back of my head. Something is approaching, slowly, cautiously. There's something familiar about it, but I can't put my finger on it.

"Toxel," Atris starts to say, and the power of my attraction tries to pull me around towards her. But I've been trained too well by Revan and Bastila, experienced too much of war through my mother's eyes to let my body overrule my instinct. My lightsabres leap into my hands and shift, just as the first shots are fired from the woods.

I have no time to think, my entire being working to deflect the shots now coming from all around us. Moment by moment, everything seems to slow until the bolts of energy and my lightsabre seem to leave impossible long, lazy trails of light in the night's air. The shots seem to go on forever, but after a while I come to sense the rhythm behind them and the deflections become easier.

Still, I can't aim those shots back at my opponents. I sense that there are six of them, and they are crafty. Perhaps they are versed in fighting Jedi, because my assailants move as they shoot, making themselves hard to target. But I have my mother's blood in me, and I have shared her instincts for war through her experiences. I begin to see the patterns in their movements too, not as clearly as I feel my mother would, but enough to start anticipating where my attackers will be next.

Thought my attackers try to maintain a constant barrage, thinking to pin me down I think, they can not help the brief gaps that creep into their attacks, ones only visible to one empowered by the Force, and intensely aware of patterns.

I sense another brief lull approaching, and I use micro-seconds to aim the next two deflections. From my right, I see two energy shields flare in the woods, the light bright enough to tell me that they are droids.

"Atris," I begin to say, but then I realize belatedly that she is not fighting like I am. Instead, she lies frozen, crouching at my feet, and I understand now that it's her they're attacking, her I've been defending. My blades are whizzing within an inch of her as they weave a shield of light around her.

Somehow, it would be okay if these droids were attacking me, but not my friend, my guide. Cold fury fills me, a willingness to do what it takes to protect those close to me, like Revan or Bastila for the other. I had not realized I had learned that from them until now.

White snow rises around us, swirling, obscuring everything like the sandstorms that struck our home on Tatooine. It moves outward as I turn off one blade and pull Atris to our left. I just need to reach some trees, to get enough protection so that I can leave Atris for a moment and deal with our attackers.

The droids fire shots through my screen of snow, systematically targeting different areas I've hidden in an attempt to find us. I use the Force to avoid the few shots that come our way, again a trick I learned from my mother's experiences in war. Deflecting the shots would tell the droids where we are.

But I realize that it will take too long to reach the forest, and that our attackers have likely anticipated my tactic. Instead, I find a small hollow along our path, and place Atris in there, covering her with snow hastily. "Stay here," I tell her. She doesn't respond, and doesn't move either and I pray she understands.

I move away as quickly as I can, letting my small snow storm cover my tracks as I approach one of the droids I sense. When I'm far enough away from Atris, I drop my impromptu defence and start running for the nearest attacker.

Snow hisses along my track as I weave between the shots and then I'm finally near an opponent. It keeps firing, perhaps trusting in its energy shield to ward off my blades, but I do not start with my blades. Instead, I use the Force to push it into a thicker part of the forest, falling upon it as it crashes into the snow within a thick grouping of trees.

Its armour is thick, a darkish-red colour and its head is almost cat-like, with red glowing photoreceptors. The long legs and arms thrash, trying to throw me off, but I only need a moment. Placing my hand upon its body, I use my power to _push_, crushing its torso almost instantaneously. Its body sparks and the light leaves it photoreceptors.

I'm up before the other droids can reposition themselves to find an angle into the clump of trees, and then I'm running for the next one. Another droid falls to the same tactic and suddenly the attacks stop.

There is a brief moment of silence, but not of rest. Instead, small grenades start flying through the air, some landing in the forest where I first thought to hide Atris, others in the area between there and where we were when the attacks started. Luckily, the blasts are not near Atris yet, but I know they soon will be.

_Well, two can play that game_. I pull out the grenades that Revan taught me always to carry with me. I have several kinds; these are specifically designed for droids. I aim the first one towards the droid farthest from Atris, hoping to fool them into moving their attack away from her. The droid I've aimed for tries to shoot the grenade down, but I use the Force to make it weave through the air. A second later, the droid falls to the ion energies from the blast.

_Three more_. I pull out another grenade even as the droids continue their barrage, the blasts getting closer to Atris. This time my target is able to shoot the first grenade, but it falls to the second one. The droids stop their attack momentarily, but not before I've lofted two grenades and felled another droid.

My last attacker is the most skilled, intercepting each of my last four grenades with single shots, despite my best efforts to make them difficult to hit. But I start running after the last two and now I'm getting close to it. To my surprise, the droid starts running away from me, quickly demonstrating that he can move as quickly as I.

I stop, catching my breath and seeing what the droid will do. It stops almost as soon as it realizes that I no longer pursue it, turning its reddish, copper human-shaped body towards me. It carries a long, Mandalorian sniper rifle and its body is more battered than its fellows. Somehow, there is something very familiar about this droid.

"Grudging admiration: you are a fine fighter, meatbag," the droid says, its tone surprisingly mocking for a synthetic voice. "You have killed some of my best clones despite my superior plan and the timing of my attack. You managed to hide our target from us and you even move much better than I anticipated you could in those silly shoes. Persuasion: but you seem to have no understanding of human nature. This Jedi you travel with is not worth the application of your skill. She is a failed Jedi and Sith and now, shudder: a farmer."

"My companions are mine to choose, droid," I say, trying to control my anger. I think about dragging it towards me with the Force, but my instincts warn me that the droid is probably already prepared for this tactic. "And their worth is mine alone to determine."

"Dismissive acquiescence: very well, young fleshy one. Statement: putting your irrationality aside, I now officially inform you, only because my master says I must, that our organization will not allow you or any other flesh or metal creature to enter the premises of the Academy. Its contents are too dangerous for your inferior minds and your irrational nature. Firm request: turn back and leave Atris to me—"

The droid hesitates when I start walking towards it, backing up to keep its distance from me. "Grudging retraction: very well, keep her if you must. But depart from this area by dawn or I will return. Gleeful threat: enter the Academy, and I and my clones will take more drastic steps in order to cease our hostilities."

"And what business is it of yours, droid, where I go and what I do?" As I speak, I probe the droid with my Force, trying to confirm what Revan's borrowed experiences tell me. Its height is about right, as is the colour, and there is a sense of malice all about it. Besides, the voice is unforgettable. "Or should I say, HK-47?"

"Humble statement: so my reputation precedes me? Has ex-master Revan told you about me and my prowess? Renewed warning: then you should know that my threat is not idle. I have killed many Jedi in my time and will enjoy the opportunity to do it again."

"And would you dare risking Revan's wrath in doing so?" I ask, hoping that I've found its weak point.

"Sad declaration: Alas, Revan set me free from his service after the Exile died, giving me into the hands of another. Happy statement: luckily, my new master is not burdened with your illogical emotions and does not hesitate to use my services."

"And who do you serve now, HK-47? And why does this being want you to attack Atris?"

The droid chuckles, its tinny voice making the sound menacing. "Sarcastic chuckle: wouldn't you like to know, offspring of Revan. I'm afraid I can not reveal that information. Reluctant acknowledgement: I can not defeat you today, young progeny of my former master, and so I will leave here now. Parting warning: consider my words, young sack of fluids. Leave here in the morning or I will come with many more of my clones and no one will be able to save you, not even Revan."

"What's so important," I start to ask, but the droid rises suddenly into the air, jets shooting from a pack on its back. In a moment it is gone. "What's so important about the damned Academy?" I say, kicking the snow until the air is filled with glistening flakes whose beauty belies the violence of just moments before.

But I can't stand still to admire the contrast, for Atris has not stirred from her hiding place. I make my way quickly back to where I left her, seeing images of her body, still, the snow beneath it red with her blood. Finally, when I'm almost on top of her, her hands push through the snow covering her, and listlessly push the snow away while my hammering heart slows its beat.

I want to talk with her, but she avoids my eyes, so I help her rise and then brush the snow from her body.

When we are done, I put my hands on her shoulders. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she says after a long moment, "I am fine." Then she sighs, her body slumping even more than before. "I'm sorry, Toxel. I should thank you, I know, and be more grateful. And surprisingly…" she looks me in the eyes, almost shyly it seems to me, before looking away again.

"Surprisingly," she starts again, "I am grateful, though in the past death was as acceptable as continued life for me." She lets out another sigh, and she straightens her back, her will overcoming the guilt and despair I now sense from her. Turning towards me, the small smile on her face strained, she bows towards me. "Thank you, Toxel, for saving this broken, old 'unworthy farmer.'"

I want to tell her that there is no need to thank me, but I can see how much the expression of gratitude is costing Atris, so I bow in return and say, "You're welcome."

"Come," I continue, indicating our scattered supplies and tents with my hand, "let's clean up shall we? When we finish, I'll make us a pot of tea and then we can decide what to do tomorrow morning."

Atris hesitates, waiting perhaps for me to say more, but I just wait silently for her to start walking, keeping my smile gentle and patient. She studies me for a long time, her aura full of uncertainty, of anticipated pain.

_But I'm not going to ask you, Atris, why you didn't fight. Not now. _Finally, she moves towards the camp and I follow.

We spend an hour gathering up our supplies and putting the tent back up. Atris is just finishing cleaning out the inside of the tent when the tea is done. We sip on our cups silently, the only sound the whispering moaning of a light breeze that has sprung up recently.

"So you really mean it," I begin, "when you said that you were not using the Force." We are halfway through our second cup, and I sense that she is calmer now.

"Toxel," she sighs after a moment, "until you came along, I had not used the Force since the last time your mother and I met. I had almost forgotten I had it, and its voice in my mind had grown silent until you began asking questions and doing whatever it is that you do that…"

Atris' cheeks turn red for a moment, and my heart skips a beat as I wonder what she was going to say, but then I see her eyes grow steely for a moment. When she continues speaking, her expression is calm and slightly distant.

"But those two uses of the Force were minor, inconsequential, and with no intent to harm. The thought of using the Force in combat again… I can't do it, Toxel, not even to save my own life. I won't return to what I once was."

"Using the Force to defend yourself is not an action of the dark side, Atris."

"It's not about dark side and light side, anymore," she says, her voice surprisingly harsh. "You should know that, having grown up under Revan and Bastila. Did they not teach you…?" My face is already burning when Atris stops suddenly. She takes a deep breath, before she continues. "I'm sorry, Toxel. I still forget how young you are underneath all that wisdom, and sometimes I expect too much from you."

"I know that Revan and Bastila are neither dark nor light," I say, trying to keep the hurt I feel out of my voice, refusing to look at Atris' face, and the expression of sympathy upon it. "But Revan always told me that it is still crucial to know which way different actions and thoughts lean, and then weigh the action against the intention. Are you committing the sin for the right reasons? Is there a greater good to be served? Then there's Bastila, who disagrees with Revan on this matter. She says that what's important is one's emotions when acting. Are you acting to protect rather than harm? Do you care about the welfare of others or only yourself? And so on. It's something they debate constantly."

"And that just reinforces my decision, Toxel. Better not to use it and avoid the risk to ruin…"

"But I think they are both wrong," I say, interrupting her, determined now to show her that I am not the child she has called me. "I think what matters is that I be prepared to accept the responsibility and consequences of my actions. If I harm someone, no matter how vital the cause, will I apologize to that person's family when I can, and make reparations? Will I accept the guilt and punishment for the pain I inflict upon others, even if they are few and my actions save thousands, or even thousands of planets? Will I maintain my responsibility to what most would call the 'lesser' good _as well as_ the supposed 'greater' good. That, for this young boy at least, is the key factor."

When I finish, I wait for her response, my face and stance rigid, ready to defend my position when she tries to counter it. But she says nothing, only considers me with those cool, clear blue eyes for the longest time, her hand now on her chin and her head tilted to one side slightly.

"Where did you learn to fight like you do?" she asks finally.

I pause, trying to unwind my mind from all the arguments I had been preparing to defend my statements of before. "Revan and Bastila taught me," I snap finally, wary. _Where is she going with this? Blast, will I ever understand this woman?_

"There is more to your training that that, Toxel. I have studied combat intensively more than…" Atris hesitates for a moment, than shakes her head before continuing, "As you know. I could feel it in the Force, the way your body and blade work as one, the way you avoided rather than deflected the shots of the droids, the rare two weapon style… You fight like your…" Atris hesitates for a moment.

"Like my mother? Revan brought a few trainers who helped teach me how to fight. One of them had trained under my mother."

"No, it's more than that. I've seen enough to know the difference between what a Jedi learns by training and what a Jedi learns from experience. What you did, they are not just techniques. You fight with skill and instinct, like one who has seen war: efficient rather than flashy, practical rather than theoretical. But you have not been in a war, you could not have been."

"Atris," I sigh, "you know my skill and you have read my book."

"I… I think I have always assumed that it was the voices left in the objects that acted through you to write the story. Or something like that. I guess I've been thinking that your role was passive, like some kind of intermediary. But I think now that I am wrong," Atris continues, her eyes searching me. "You really do experience the memories first-hand, don't you?"

"Yes. I thought you understood that." _And so, that's why she was willing to entrust me with the diary… _

"I should have…" Her voice trails off, but her scrutiny continues. I wait for the accusations, or some kind of other emotional response, that I'm sure will come. And I can understand. It had always surprised me, as much as it had flattered me, how much she had trusted me with the inner workings and passions of her past. Now, knowing that she had misunderstood the nature of my talent, I realize that the revelation must be opening up new wounds in her, a new sense of vulnerability in a woman who was already so raw from what she had been through.

But the expected outburst from her doesn't come. Instead she says quietly, "I guess my heart knew, even if my mind didn't." She pauses again.

_How can she be so calm, having just discovered that I've lived her memories?_ But her face doesn't change as she continues.

"Just how old are you, Toxel?" she asks, her eyes searching mine.

I open my mouth to answer, but then I realize that I don't know the answer, not really. _Am I fifteen, or forty? Am I an experienced warrior, or one who just fought his first real battle? _

I've always just been both, and I've always told myself that I'm young in life and old in my stories. But I realize now that my journeys with Atris have shown that presumption to be an illusion. In the battle with the droids tonight, I was both an experienced warrior and a first-timer. My mother might have fought that battle much more effectively in her prime, and Revan would no doubt have dispatched of them in mere moments. But I had been calm and decisive, reading and reacting to the moment like they did, even if my responses had not been as powerful or skillful.

Going over it now, I find that same duality in many other aspects of my life. The quality of my writing. The way I interact with other people, expecting respect and yet uncertain too. Uncertain and yet understanding the body language, both mine and that of the other, when I'm attracted to a woman like…

"Toxel?" Atris says, jolting me out of my uncomfortable thoughts.

"Fifteen _and_ forty."

Atris nods, and says no more as her eyes turn towards the forest.

I welcome the silence, glad to avoid the question that seems to be growing more and more insistent as I travel with Atris: what kind of relationship can a man with the memories of decades but the experience of only a young man have with a woman almost three times his age?

_These are silly thoughts to be having, Toxel, when there are dangerous enemies who are probably watching you right now_.

Suddenly, I know what it is I have to do, but I squash the thought almost as quickly as it comes, before Atris might read it. "Let's go to bed," I say, feigning a tiredness that I don't feel. "I'm too tired to think about tomorrow and I don't think those droids will attack until we do something they don't like."

Atris hesitates, and then nods. Shortly afterwards, we are lying in our tent, each covered by the wonderfully thin and warm Aratech thermal blankets.

After fifteen minutes or so, I sense that Atris is asleep, but I want to be careful, so I wait another twenty. Then, when her hands twitch a little from her dreams, I get myself out from under the blanket and dress as quietly as I can.

Emerging from the tent, I close its flaps carefully, and then put on the duraplastic snowshoes.

Before I leave, I stretch my senses outwards, reaching out as far as I can with my power in search of hiding droids. I find nothing, and breathing a sigh of relief, I jog towards the nearest point in the shield. I need to be quick if I'm going to get in and out before the sun rises.

An hour later, I've finally arrived at the shield. It takes a few minutes for me to catch my breath, and after that, my plan is simple. As gently as I can, I reach out with my fingers and touch the shield.

A current of something deadly—electricity, Force, or something else—strikes at me through me from the shield, but I use my power to ease it aside, even as I let my senses roam through it. I'm looking for memories of those who have passed through it before, seeking some clue about how I can pass this apparently impregnable defence. But what I find surprises me.

A tall, muscular Zabrak appears in my mind, the smile on his face small compared to the light in his yes. I recognize him, both by his appearance and by the soft, almost song-like cadence of his voice. It is Bao-Dur, who traveled with my mother.

_We have waited for you to search for us for a long time, Toxel, but now our patience is beginning to pay off. This message must be very brief, for I know that there are those who seek to stop others from entering this base. You can't afford to be distracted for more than a moment. _

_Beware, the one that guards this place is as ruthless as Revan, a droid with an intelligence beyond ours that has developed the ability to predict events. He has many assassins in his employment, organic and droid, and he will not hesitate to use them if he ever thinks you are a threat. If you enter this base now, you will be hunted and probably killed. _

_Leave here, and go to Dantooine, to the old enclave where your mother trained to be a Jedi. There, in her old room, you will find the next piece for your puzzle. Now go, before they figure out what you are doing!_

And then the Zabrak fades away, even as I feel a tugging on my belt. My off-hand lightsabre hisses in the hands of the other, and I'm frantically trying to draw my main blade to defend myself. But the other, Atris I realize belatedly, is not attacking me; she's cutting down an Aqualish who has just erupted out of a nearby snow drift, and then a Rodian to my left.

I draw and ignite my blade, and then, guided by the Force, by right hand grabs an object that somehow flies through the shield at me. It is another lightsabre, one unfamiliar to me. But I don't have time to think of where it came from, only to ignite it.

Atris and I are standing back to back with our blades raised. Around us, more and more aliens and humans appear: five, ten, now more than twenty, each turning on energy shields they carry in their belt and armed with gleaming vibroblades.

"Stupid Jedi," one Twi'lek hisses. "Thought you were safe just because you drove off GO-TO's droids. But GO-TO was smart enough not to rely only on droids."

"You scared that walking scrap metal collection so bad," another Twi'lek sneers, "it tried to tell us to let you go away. Or maybe that droid just wanted the reward all to himself, though I can't think of what it would do with all those credits."

"It probably wanted to 'upgrade its capabilities,'" drawled an Aqualish in front of Atris.

"Well we have better uses for GO-TO's money, don't we boys?" says a tall, red-headed human who stands to my left. "There are a few whores on Nar Shaddaa waiting for some real men to show them a good time, though they'll have to wait until we've had our fun with you, little lady."

"We are Jedi," I say, projecting my voice and power, "and more than a match for you. Leave now and you might still live." But there are too many of them to persuade.

"How old are you, boy, maybe fifteen?" the man laughs. "I'll take my chances. We all will." All of the thugs nod their heads. "But there is an alternative. You could surrender, give us those nice light sticks you have, and maybe if she shows us a good time, we'll bring you both to our employer alive."

"No!" I shout, and then the men are all flying through the air, tossed aside by my power. I start to charge towards one of them, but all of sudden the air is filled with bolts of energy which fly out from the Academy's shields at everyone, making no distinction between our groups. The night is lit by the flaring of personal energy shields and darting lightsabres, but the hail of deadly energy from the base's laser turrets is unrelenting, and unforgiving. One of our attackers quickly falls, his shield used up, then another and suddenly they are running away. Several thugs fall, hit in the back as they run, but as they draw away, more and more of the bolts are aimed towards Atris and me.

"We need to get out of here," I shout at her. Her face is ashen, and tears streak down her cheek, shining in the light of the lightsabre, my second blade, that she swings.

"Get ready to jump," she shouts back, "as far as you can."

"What are you going to do…" but then she shouts, "Now!" and so I jump backwards, farther than I ever have before, hoping that I'm right to trust her.

But she doesn't jump with me, instead she keeps deflecting bolts while her other hand steals its way to her belt. Suddenly, a very powerful shield surrounds her, and then she is running, her passage marked by flashes of energy where the shots strike. The shield wanes with each step she takes away from the defences, and I'm not sure if she'll get far enough before it dies, so I start running towards her. A second later, I'm flying back through the air as Atris pushes me away. Before I can regain my feet, she's diving behind a small rock outcrop just as her shield dies.

As she catches her breath, Atris looks around until she finds me, sneaking toward her by crawling along the snow. Somehow, despite the fact that the Academy's lasers are pounding her position, she seems to be enjoying herself, giving me a bright, white smile even as she covers her head to protect herself from the falling debris. Her hands fumbling inside her jacket for a moment, Atris takes out a large grenade from a pocket in her clothes and hurls it over the outcrop towards the Academy. The grenade explodes in a massive fiery, crackling explosion, so bright I have to turn away. The pyrotechnics continue for a long time, and I wonder what is making the effect last so long. But it seems to be working for I can hear the crunch of Atris' feet as she approaches, and then she is lying beside me, a look of contentment on her face.

"What was that?" I yell, my heart beating fast.

"Something I learned from some of the former fighters who work with me on restoring Telos. Put out enough heat and light, and the sensors go blind. But the real trick is making it last. Apparently, the Mandalorians used it on our troops, especially our droids, during the war.

"I thought you had given up on fighting," I shout again, even as I'm pulling her up and into a quick walk away from the base.

"I had," she said, but she's grinning, "but I'm a historian and so of course I asked how they were made and then I had to make some for myself and, well, I thought they might come in handy during our adventures.

"Why didn't you use them against the droids?" I'm annoyed now, and a little embarrassed. I realize that I had felt so heroic about that battle, defending the pretty lady and chasing away the enemies single-handedly. Now I'm wondering if she was letting the "boy"…

"No, Toxel," she interrupts my thinking, laying a hand on my arm as we walk away from the Academy. "I'm sorry I'm reading your mind," she says quietly, "I don't mean to but I can't seem to control how I'm using the Force now that I've let it out. But," and now she stops me, turning me so that she can look me in the eyes, "you did save me before. I was shocked by the droids' attack, and I froze. Afterwards, I told myself that it was my pacifism and maybe I was right. But when I realized that you had left the tent, and what you were planning to do… And then, when I saw those thugs creeping closer to you… I knew I had to do something. I couldn't let you… you are too… " and then she stops, her face flushing.

_Too young… and she's right, I am._ I don't realize I've started walking away from her until she jogs ahead and steps in front of me.

"No, Toxel," she says, "it's not that." She opens her mouth to say more, but then we hear the rustling in the woods and sense the auras of the assassins starting to stalk us. "We need to go," she says, "but we will talk about this later."

But we don't talk about it, not during our journey back to the camp, which we pack up hastily, nor during our long trek back to our ship.

Later, as our ship lifts to the sky, I find that something is nagging me about the message from Bao-Dur. I think over the message, replaying it in my mind until I realize what has been bothering me. _How did he know that I would be able to read his message in the shield? To have done that, he must have known about my abilities, and yet how could he have? I am pretty sure my mother never knew about them, nor Revan or Bastila. _

I think about it for a long time, but I find no answer, not in my head nor in the Force. But as I sit their thinking, while Atris settles the ship into orbit, I find myself starting to question other things about the night's events. _Who is GO-TO, and why he wants to stop us from entering the Academy? And what is in this damned Academy, that so many people are determined to protect?_ _And if Atris and this GO-TO both want to protect the contents of Atris' old base, then why were GO-TO's droids trying to kill Atris? _

I start to leave my chair, intending to ask Atris, but then the light of the cabin reflects off the lightsabre I got from the Academy, and I feel an irresistible pull.

_Maybe my answers will be here, in this blade… I'll just write the next section first. If I need to, I can always ask Atris tomorrow._ Reaching out, I pick up the lightsabre. As I bring the hilt to my heart, I feel an overwhelming emptiness.

----------------------------

**Al'keh**

_Al'keh. It awakens fear you can not name, and yet it calls to you as well. It is why the space pilot abandons her home and family to travel the stars, and yet can never name what draws her there. It is why you are all always alone, even when the thickest strands of the Force bind you to the overwhelming and unavoidable crescendo of life. _

_Al'keh is what lies on the other side of existence. It is not darkness. Al'keh is what is left when you abandon all knowledge and imagination of what light is. It is not death, but it does not live. It is not nothingness, for the Force shaped itself, and then life out of Al'keh. There are no words to describe Al'keh. It knows not shape, meaning, nor time. _

_You can never truly understand Al'keh, and no living being, not even the most powerful, can ever touch it, claim it._

_But one of you has._

----------------------------

**Visas.****On an unnamed shuttle beyond the Outer Rim**

When I first sensed the Exile, I knew I had to go to her. In her was the breach through which Al'keh had entered the realm of the living, a portal to the oblivion I sought whose access she guarded.

So I lied to my master, told him that I would bring the Exile to him, or kill her so that he would let me go. Now, even as I steer the shuttle my master has given me away from the _Ravager_, and carry the lightsabre he gave me in my robe, it is difficult to believe that my plan has worked,

I think a part of me thought he would see through the lies I told him, even though I had carefully prepared them. His vision is so vast, his power so immense, how could he not sense the fear underlying the words that I uttered? When he had choked me with the Force, I thought that was what had happened.

Instead, here I was, flying a shuttle towards the stars of the Republic, far away from anywhere I have ever been. She is there, the one I seek. The Exile.

It is such a strange name for a sentient, and yet I can the Force provides me no other name for her. To that which binds us all, the Exile wanders alone beyond the fold, a shuttered lantern that flickers in the dark beyond the firelight, a dark stranger in a city of light.

It is the lonely fate that I avoided when I accepted my master's dark gift, the bonding to the one who consumed my people.

But soon, he will be master no longer.

My hands float over the shuttle's controls effortlessly, even as I marvel that they know the ships control so well when I have never flown one before. But that is the extent of my master's power. He ripped the knowledge from one of the Sith soldiers flying his ship and had planted it in my brain, even as the pilot's body seemed to melt into the floor, as if his bones had been absorbed along with his knowledge.

My fingers hover now over the control that will put me into hyperspace, hesitating though I am not sure why. Then I realize that I'm not sure if the knowledge that my master stole for me will stay with me for the flight. I can still feel it, roughly glued to the edge of my mind like a dirty bandage, the taint of its acquisition like thick, oily sludge that seems to ooze into every crack and pore.

_Will the knowledge stay with as I move away from my master, or will it disappear?_

Part of me wants to ignore the question, to rush into space to find the one who can answer the riddle that the Exile poses, but I have grown used to ignoring my feelings. Instead, I spend three days watching myself moving the tiny ship through different manoeuvres until the stolen knowledge becomes mine, or at least enough of it to point my ship to where it needs to go.

The Exile has moved since I began this unplanned training. Somehow, from the achingly familiar, empty cold I feel around her, I think she is somewhere in hyperspace, making her way between star systems just as I plan to do.

_But which star system? Where is she going?_ I can't tell, but there is a tug that pulls me in a certain direction. And so I call the hyperspace routes onto my shuttle's screens and look over them until I find one that seems to point me in approximately the same direction as where the Exile is right now. Plugging the coordinates in, I engage the engines.

----------------------------

_Laughter ripples the air around me, my lover's amusement at my joke sending waves of purple around the small market. Each person that the waves touch smiles for a moment, infected by my lover's laughter, and their brief happiness, like a reflected wave, comes back to us, lifting the spirits of her and I even more._

_It's so easy to be happy in the market. Buying goods for a loved one, the vegetables for an anticipated meal, or just for the joy of perusing the beautiful wares brought my merchants from around the galaxy, the market was awash in good feelings so that the Force that linked us was more colourful and alive than the stalls and people. All of it makes Shis' face glow, although perhaps that is life force of my child in her belly._

_But then there is a sound, and Shis and I turn towards it as one. It is a shrieking wind more empty than the darkest corners of our Force rich planet. It whips down from the sky, its cruel touch whirling a male not to far away into the air before he crumbles into lifeless, gray dust so unlike the vibrant liveliness of the earth around. _

_There is a sudden hush around the market, even the Force is still for a moment, and then we all run as the black wind surges towards a nearby female. _

_Screams follow Shis and me as our feet pummel the ground, the sound of our retreat like the beating of drums whose notes go sour as they fade. And then I feel Shis look at me, and as I turn towards her, I feel her love stretch out towards me, a deep blue thread with tiny filaments of gold that shreds into nothingness just as I feel the dark hunger begin to unbind the tangle of my…_

----------------------------

My heart is pounding when I wake up, and my face and body are coated with a cold, clammy sweat. My hand steals up to my head, to a point where I feel pain. There is something moist there that clings to my fingers as I draw them away. Curious, I bring it to my mouth.

Taste is still a sensation I'm getting used to. It feels so empty without the pallet of Force sensations that used to accompany our meals on Kataar—the songs of love and satisfaction that seemed to inhabit each morsel.

But the flavour on my finger, it is warm and salty, richer than any food I have sampled since leaving my planet.

_It's blood_, I realize suddenly. Checking, I put my fingers back to the place on my head that hurts, discovering there a small cut in the skin and a wider sensitive area.

_I must have banged it on the ceiling when I sat up after the dream_… I don't want to think about the dream, for I do not understand it.

I often dream of the destruction of my home, but never through the eyes of another. And yet, this time I was a male in love with a woman, and the father of a child-to-be. I think I had worked as a law-writer too. But I don't want to remember another's tragedy; I have enough of my own. So I begin, almost without volition, to push the memories away.

_Was it a true dream? Was I dreaming of another's life, his death at the hand of my master? If so, where is the memory coming from? And why now?_

And yet, I realize that as I push the dream and its memories away, I'm cutting myself off from something else as well. I don't know what it is, but with each passing moment I feel something precious is being lost. And so, though a part of me screams against it, I begin to pull the dream back, chasing its echoes through the Force as relentlessly as I had once pursued the diseases that inhabited my patients.

It takes almost the whole day to piece together the crumbs of the dream; it's like chasing butterflies in a meadow without a net. But finally I have them together, though like the pieces of a puzzle I have yet to find a way to bind them together again.

I start to work on the task, fitting sections together to see if they fit. Most of the time they don't, but occasionally I can hear that unique, quiet contentment of connection.

By the time I can no longer see, though, most of the pieces still float, dark and lonely like the planet remains and wrecked ships that circle Malachor V. _Will they disappear while I sleep, or will they still be here when I awake? What happens if I have another dream, will the pieces change to fit that one? Will I wake up to see the pieces of my nightmare?_

And that is too much, the idea that my life will be waiting for me here, in this dark corner of my power instead. I have lived my polluted life too hard and too long in my dreams and thoughts; I desperately do not want to see it floating before me like those horrible holovideos that the soldiers on the _Ravager_ watch when they pretend that they are still alive.

And so, I reach into a nearby, small metal cabinet set into the wall of the shuttle, and pull out the hyponeedles that contain stimulants. Taking one up in my hand, I consider the thick green fluid within it.

Part of me howls in protest as I place the point against my thigh. Like all Miralukas, I have avoided chemical medicines all my life, favouring the Force for healing. But my resistance seems trivial right now; how much more can this simple fluid defile my already diseased soul? Though I can not help the grimace that forms on my face, I activate the needle.

White-hot fire seems to flare out of the point where the needle touches my skin, and its heat storms through my body in a way that is eerily similar to the hunger of my master in the male's dream.

I open my mouth to scream in despair, but before I can muster the breath for it, the feeling is gone. I have sit for a few minutes, waiting for my body to stop quiver, for the courage to straighten my back and calm my breathing. Such is the power of my master, of his hold over me, that a stimulant feeding on my fat reserves to produce energy can fill me with terror.

_Or is it the male's dream that has affected me so… what is his name? _I search the pieces still bobbing in my head for his name, and it quickly finds me. _Cigi._ And then I surprise myself, my lips forming a smile that spreads to my cheeks and warms my body.

It's a feeling I haven't felt for a long time, and I wonder at its source. _What is it about Cigi that makes me feel happy despite everything?_ I search inside myself for an answer, but I realize that the happiness comes not from me but from the pieces of the man's dream in my head.

_It's just the happiness that comes with recognition_, I realize. _Like how we feel when another first speaks our name, and we hear the distant melody of friendship intertwined with the syllables. _

"Cigi." As my mouths shapes his name, the joy within me increases.

After that, it's much easier to piece together Cigi's dream. Three pieces pull me towards them, and when put them together I discover that I have three sisters, whom I love very much though they boss me around all the time.

Five more pieces and I remember that I like to construct wooden drums from deadwood I find during long walks with Shis. Shis paints each drum with a different pattern and colour theme, and we give the drums away for the Life Returning festival, the two weeks each five revolutions around the sun when the Force streams from our star are most colourful and alive.

I piece together four pieces and place them in the centre of the growing design and then I'm transported back to the day Shis and I met. It was two Life Returning festivals ago, before I died. I am drumming, in a spot far away from the main crowd of watchers, on the side of the mountain. I am dimly aware of another person approaching me, but it isn't anyone I know and I'm content to concentrate on raising my tribute to the beauty of the Force with my music. What I don't realize is that Shis is also lost to the wonder of this night and the sun's dancing, so intent on the undulating colour that she stumbles over my shoulder as I sat near the pathway. Tumbling down awkwardly, she lands on my favourite drum, breaking the fragile creation into many small pieces.

Shis opens her mouth, the threads of her soul turning a deep, muddy brown with her embarrassment, but I speak first, driven by Force instinct. "Wonderful and mysterious is the Force, that it has taken away my drum only to bring me something more beautiful than I have ever seen or ever will again."

And after I say it, I realize that I mean it. She is beautiful to me, the true colour of her soul like the deep blue, slow currents of the ocean. I can feel my core being stretch towards her, her tidal pulsing thrumming along with the resonating beat of my spirit.

We marry that same week, I remember as I add another piece, in front of the wild bonfire that marked the end of the festival, witnessed by all who attended.

I find other memories after that. The day we move into our own house, which I had designed to resonate and hum with the steady winds that flowed off the sea and over the small hill that we occupied. I am marvelling at the way that Shis has painted the walls. Somehow her designs and colours seem to mirror the music of our house in the Force, until her paints and the vibration of the house seem to merge into a larger, wondrous symphony. We dance to the music until we collapse onto the floor in exhaustion.

I touch three more pieces together, and suddenly I find myself lying down, my eyes and senses filled with Shis' beauty as she moves above me, the taste of our lovemaking like a thick, rich syrup. And as I pour my seed into her later, when she is lying exhausted and satisfied on the bed, I can feel the life form in her belly, like a flower that suddenly opens its petals to the sun, and the star that is my lover's belly brightens in turn.

The pieces are almost putting themselves together, they seem to leap toward my mental fingers as gather and place them. Under my hands, an image is forming, a brightly coloured, tall horn that is straight and narrow at the top end, and broad and curved at the other.

As I put the final piece together, I can feel the presence of another approaching, faster than the ship within which I am. Dark, voracious, it is the mind of my master traveling along the slick, thick bond that stretches between us.

_You are bonded to me_, my master's voice booms in my head. _You are mine!_ His anger roars through my head, an angry wind that chases away all my thoughts, all my illusions of freedom. But my master's bitter breath also passes through the horn within me. The horn shivers, and then dissolves, but it is not consumed. Instead, all of the ugliness that was contained in that touch of my master, and all the wonder in Cigi's life, they merge, swirl and then are transformed into a single, sonorous note, pregnant with all of the lost hopes of my people, and yet all their joys too.

For the briefest of moments, that note fills me, shakes me, until all I can do is fall to the ground and weep, even as its inexplicable and exquisite splendour freezes my master, before the note escapes into the depths of space.

When it is gone, and I am left once again alone, my master's presence storms into me, searching avariciously through me for the source of this wonder he fears. He searches for the answers within me, his rotting probes burrowing through the different layers of my mind. But he can't find its source, nor its goal, for I have no more clue than he does of the source of this miracle.

And as he searches, I realize that there is a corner of my mind now that he does not see, a part of me that is no longer quite on the plane in which he and I reside. It is, I sense, somehow shivering, resonating on a different frequency, present and yet not quite there.

And then, without warning or transition, my master is gone, leaving me with this small miracle, but also the hopelessness that I thought I had put away: the mourning of my people, the isolation that I thought I had dispelled as an illusion. They are all here with me after all, and the weight of the sorrow seems to grow with each passing moment.

But then I hear something; it is the horn's note coming from a long distance, growing stronger, fuller with each moment. And yet, as it approaches, I realized that it is changed, subtly different. It is an echo, I realize, but its vibrancy is not diminished but instead filled with scents of places unknown and feelings strange and unfamiliar.

As it passes through me, and the molecules of my being thrum to its passing, I see a vision, one of guardians—men and women; aliens and humans; warriors, sages, and healers—all circling a vortex. They all stand, they share a purpose, their eyes gleaming and backs straight and proud. And among them, connecting them, of them, something I thought I would never see again, a web of sharing, connection, belonging… weak, delicate, unstable, and yet growing more vibrant, thicker, stronger with every moment.

And they perceive me too, in this moment, and they turn towards me as one, the intent on their faces clear. _Do not come here, dark one, you are not welcome._

And then the note is gone again, bounding back towards… towards what? _The Exile_, the Force tells me suddenly. Somehow, the Exile and the guardians she carries are gathering forces. I can sense a crucial moment approaching, a time of reckoning that will set the course of the universe for the millennia to come.

I wish I understood what has just happened.

But the fate of the galaxy, its mysteries, that is for others to care about. Simple, endless oblivion is what I seek, freedom from the cycle of life, and only in Al'keh can I find it. Only in her wound can I be free of life and all its pain, free of the Force and the painful sight it gives me. I must find a way to her soon, discover a way to enter the breach before the Exile, the Force, or even Al'keh, finds a way to seal it.

_But how can I get through the guardians, tens of thousands strong and already aware of me? I can not defeat so many; I am not even a warrior. And to die now, at their hands… that would condemn me to be tethered to my master for eternity, like a small, lifeless moon circling madly around a black hole._

But perhaps there is another solution, something I learned well when Katarr was destroyed.

I can surrender myself, give myself to the Exile. I can serve her, and maybe when she trusts me, she will bond with me, like she has her guardians. And then, just maybe, she will let me use the bond to escape this life, to become one with that aspect of her wound in which life becomes non-life, where memories can not exist.

Perhaps she will let me go free.

----------------------------

**(Toxel) _The Sour Twi'lek_, orbiting Telos**

I don't know how long I've been punching this new section of the story into my datapad. It's far from complete, and it's been one of the harder things to write. This Miraluka, Visas, her perspective is so different from mine it's hard to find the words to describe what I'm seeing through her lightsabre. I need a break, to see life through my own senses for a while.

After stretching my arms and rolling my neck, I look beyond the table in front of me for the first time in what seems ages. I am alone at the moment, but there are several empty mugs nearby.

_Testament to Atris' efforts to keep me alive_, I chuckle to myself. I barely even noticed that I drank the nutrient drinks that Atris provided me every once in a while. I'm not even sure how many she gave me, or how often. But there is a plastic bag full of them just underneath the small table I use.

_Well, once again Atris is gone when I need her. I have to find out more about the Miraluka people and about Visas, because it sounds like she's someone who traveled with my mother and one I haven't looked for yet. _Then I snort to myself. _So where are you this time, my "guide?" Inside the Telos Academy's shield? Halfway to the core of this world collecting diamonds for the poor? Or some other hard-to-find location that will turn my single question into another adventure?_

But then the object of my curiosity storms into the room, her eyes red and a little wild, her hair half undone and her clothes wrinkled as if she had just woken up in them.

"We need to get going now," Atris barks, sweeping Visas' lightsabre into my small bag. I open my mouth to ask what's going on, but she pulls me out of the chair so fast, I'm too busy trying to keep my feet from tripping over themselves to muster up a question. Before I know it, I'm bouncing in the co-pilot's chair while Atris is easing us out of orbit around Telos towards deep space. I realize now that I never asked her why we didn't land at Hope instead.

My head still feels like it is half lost in the colourful webs and tides of Visas' vision, but then I feel something that tears me right out of them, what Atris must have sensed earlier.

"Revan," I whisper sensing the quickly approaching, thick green jungle of his power, surrounded by a crackling, red blaze. "And Bastila… Are they here yet?"

"No, but they soon will be."

I want to ask why we're running from my guardians, but that question only belongs to the side of me that is still naïve and fifteen years old. I know the answer. I don't want Revan to know why I left and, more importantly, what answers I'm looking for. I don't want him going to Malachor V, or wherever my mother might be if she's still alive, to finish the job.

Because as much as Revan regrets killing my mother, I know that regret wouldn't prevent him from doing it again if ever believed she was a threat to the Republic.

_But I feel bad too, for fleeing Revan and Bastila yet again. They have always been honest with me, and I know that they love me. I don't like avoiding them as if they are my enemy. And… _

"Atris, are you sure we need to run? If my mother is alive and we find her this time, Bastila would also be with us. She could moderate Revan's response, and stop him from attacking my mother if it comes down to that."

"Maybe," Atris says, but she doesn't say anything else until she finishes punching in the coordinates for our jump. "But if your mother is alive, how happy is she going to be when she sees Bastila? Or even worse, both Revan and Bastila together with their souls connected and their faces filled with love. What will she do if she knows, or learns of, what Bastila did?"

_Frack, I should have thought about that!_ I've been learning and reading so much about how my mother was starting to find her way, I forgot about how the adventure ended, about the anger in my mother and the dark energies that permeated the air around her during Xi Lan's battle with Revan.

I think about how this quest would be going a lot quicker if Atris would tell me everything she knows. "What about your fracking…" I start to say, but then I see Atris' face begin to close up, the wall she had shown my mother going up brick by metaphysical brick.

_Anger won't work here, Toxel._ Taking a deep breath, I try to put aside the burning frustration that has been building slowly, secretly underneath my thoughts, at my inability to penetrate the Academy's defences. _I just can't believe that I haven't gotten into Atris' old home yet. I always thought I would eventually succeed, but now it feels like I'm running away, despite the directions of Bao-Dur._

"We need to go," Atris says, her clipped words jolting me out of my reveries.

"What about the Academy? We've spent so much time on Telos and I haven't even got past its shields."

"Toxel, we don't have that choice anymore. Revan and Bastila will be here any moment and I don't think they are going to be very happy with me, especially given that I'm the one facilitating this whole venture of yours, including those last two brawls outside the Academy. So, if you don't mind, I would rather postpone that conversation until a later date."

"Do they know about you?" My voice sounds sulky to me, like I'm finally the boy I've been despite trying so hard not to be.

"Toxel," she says, putting her hand on the control switch for the hyperspace drive and then turning to look me in the eyes. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," I say immediately. And then I hold onto the armrests of the chair as we _jump_.

I let out a long breath once the ship settles into its course. I spoke truthfully to her just before, but I have to wonder about what I said. My mother's betrayer, a former Sith, and a damned hard woman to read, Atris should be a very difficult person to trust.

_So why do I? And more importantly, should I follow my instincts on this one?_

As if she is reading my mind, Atris asks the same question, once again turning her gaze towards me from the controls in front. "Toxel, why _do_ you trust me?"

"I don't know, Atris." I respond. I take time to think about it, to let the pieces float into my mind and connect themselves while I keep my gaze absently on the streaking stars outside. Atris waits patiently in the chair beside me, checking the various instruments.

"Given your past," I say finally, "I know I should be more careful. You have shared so much with me, and yet I'm pretty sure you're not telling me everything you know. In fact, I'm starting to wonder if this whole thing isn't a bit orchestrated, with you choosing what I will discover when."

"I guess I am directing things a little, Toxel," she replied with a sigh, "but there is much I don't know and can't predict. The attacks before, I did not plan for them. Much is going on that I didn't expect. Still, that's avoiding your main point." Atris pauses, sighs again, and then rushes into her next words.

"I'm sorry. You deserve better but… I guess I don't trust as easily or as quickly as you do. It is one of the parts of me that I haven't been able to heal. And there are some people I needed to protect—"

"Brianna," I say instinctively, and then as I think about it, "and Bao-Dur?"

"Brianna, yes, and some others as well. And so—"

"Who are you protecting these people from?" I interrupt her. "The galaxy is not full of grand villains anymore. Revan has seen to that."

But Atris ignores my question. "And so I needed to know more about you, and about what you would do with sensitive information before I revealed what I know to you."

"And now…?"

"And know I think it's time for me to choose, but I'm afraid that my vision is clouded. Because there… because I… Ah, Force help me." And it seems that it does, for I see a glow settle onto Atris for a moment, before it fades away.

"Because behind all these necessary mysteries, those I have planned and those beyond my knowledge, there is another truth that you have earned. I just wish I knew how to tell it to you." And then she whispers, almost too quietly for me to hear, "I just wish I understood it."

She stops, and her eyes go towards the ceiling and her mouth opens but no words come out. After a minute, she turns her gaze back to me and shrugs her shoulders helplessly. But I don't know what I can do.

Finally, she gets up out of the seat and offers her hand to me. I take it and allow her to pull me to the kitchen, where she sits me down and then prepares two cups of caffa. The ritual seems to soothe her a little, but there is still a wild shimmering around her, as if the world is changing where she is touching it. Or perhaps it just seems that way to me, whose life has lost all its constants since she joined it.

_Still, I suppose a few things remain the same, _I think as she hands me a steaming cup. I take a deep sniff._ If there's one area where Atris is reliable, it's making good caffa._

"This is nice." The brew has a robust, earthy taste that reminds me of the wet season in Tatooine that causes the oases to bloom for two weeks.

But I've also had enough of waiting, and I'm tired of secrets. "As Bastila always advises me," I say, willing my heart to slow its beating and the heat to leave my face, "just start and we'll figure out where the beginnings and endings are later."

Atris chuckles half-heartedly, before she takes a deep breath. And then she starts to talk, slowly and deliberately as if each word needs to be thought about and chosen carefully. "I thought I was prepared for this venture. I had found my peace on Telos. I had given up the Force and the ways of power. I had given up your mother."

Atris' eyes dart quickly at me. The blue in them seems softer somehow, but it's hard to tell because they flee back to the steaming mug between her hands as soon as they meet mine. She sighs, and her body slumps, a lapse in posture I thought I would never see from her. There seems an aura of defeat about Atris, something unsure and surprisingly, achingly young.

For someone who I thought would be so cold and rigid, Atris seems to be changing in front of my eyes everyday, like a harsh winter landscape slowly giving way to spring. Perhaps the revealing of her soul has opened up doors that were best left closed, or perhaps Atris has truly changed.

I can't be sure. I sometimes feel like I don't understand anything except that it's increasingly hard to keep up with all that has been happening recently. A droid bent on protecting an academy whose secrets no one knows. This strange new being who is entering my mother's story. Fleeing the two who have raised me most of my life. And now Atris, once again changing before my eyes.

I find the unexpected fragility frightening, for my mentor and guide is being replaced by someone who looks to me for wisdom. And though I want to give her what I have, I'm afraid that one day she will remember that I am but fifteen years old, and discover that I am not a wise friend, but a deceiver instead.

And yet, a small part of me finds this new Atris compelling. There are depths and dimensions to her I never dreamed of, a landscape worth exploring if I was worthy. _If I were, _I scold myself, _at least, more than half her age._

Which lead me to join Atris in focusing my gaze on the caffa before me. I almost miss it when she starts speaking again, so absorbed am I in sorting out what is happening in her, what it means.

"I prepared myself very diligently, Toxel, for this venture. Every night since the day I sent you that letter, I reminded myself again and again about how your mother was not for me and that if we do find her, I would not let myself fall back into the trap of the past. I understand, now, that Xi Lan was an ideal for me, an icon of innate goodness and purity that seemed so different from myself. She was something I thought I would like to be, but couldn't find my way to.

"But now I know that I probably would have gotten angry with her every day," Atris continues, her voice a little calmer. "I would have felt that she was putting too much emphasis on her training. I would have complained about her not being smart enough. I would have chided her for not loving books and stories and history the way that I do. I would have felt terribly lonely when she went outside because the sun was out and the winds warm, while I stayed indoors to do research.

"And so, I was ready, truly ready, to see your mother in you and not let that influence me or ruin my focus. I knew I could undertake this task professionally and wisely." And then Atris sighs deeply, her breath almost shuddering as it leaves her thin body.

"But though I was ready for meeting Xi Lan' son, for seeing her in you, I wasn't prepared for…" and she pauses again and I can sense that she's tottering on the edge of a choice. That, despite all she's just said, she's still thinking about fleeing.

This is a crucial moment, so I wrench my eyes from the caffa to her. Though she is still not looking at me, I can see her make the last step, and her face becomes calm, a small, resigned smile lighting it from within. "I wasn't prepared for _you_, Toxel," she says quietly, her voice full of wonder, "Nothing could have prepared me for you."

I open my mouth to ask her what she means, but then Atris leans over and kisses me lightly and then only thing I know is that Atris' lips are as hot as the sun, and as soft as the Tatooine Oasis Blue Rose.

How long does the moment last before Atris pulls back, cries out?

"No… no, I can't do this!" she yells desperately, and she's pushing me away, her eyes round and wild, her skin more colourless than white. "No, let go of me!" she screams again when I try to wrap my arms around her to comfort her. And then I'm flying towards the back of the room, the sound of my crashing body masking the metallic drumming of Atris' fleeing feet.

I think about pursuing her to her room, to comfort her, to demand answers, to… do something so that I don't have to sit here, my head spinning, my heart thumping, and my mouth burning.

But I wouldn't know what to do. I can't demand answers because I don't know what the questions are supposed to be. And I can't help her because I don't know what to do. I don't even know if it's better to stay here or to follow her.

And what about what just happened? What does it mean, this impossible-to-believe, world-altering tick of time? It can't be love, can it? She must be confused, or vulnerable because of all the confessions. Look at how she ran away.

Maybe Atris was wrong and it's really my mother she still craves, my mother who she sees on my face. Maybe that's who she was kissing. Because it can't be me, right?

_Why did she run away?_

I know that Revan and Bastila would certainly never allow this. Even my mother, who had the audacity to sleep with Revan and Malak at the same time—and then a Mandalorian!—surely she would think the gulf was too large between Atris and I.

_If she were here, she would probably tell me to "go to my room," for frack's sake, but only after lecturing me for hours me to stay away from beautiful but treacherous fallen Echani Jedi._

Because it's not just any older woman I've been falling for. It's Atris, who exiled Xi Lan when my mother was in desperate need for friendship and then set her up to be killed or consumed by the Sith Lords.

_How in the fourteen hells of Mustafar would my mother feel about this impossible thing!? How am I going to get my mother to love me, if Atris is my lover?_

Of course, that's assuming that my mother's alive, which given all the other impossible things that seem to be happening these days seems more and more likely. _Though that's my instincts talking and if they can't help me handle a simple kiss, then how can I trust them?_

_It's all just too crazy, isn't it? _

I can't get a handle on this, my thoughts are spinning out of control.

And yet, throughout everything, my fingers keep stealing up to my lips.

In the end, I can't find any answers. So I do what I always do when nothing makes sense. I bring out my materials to write. As I sit down, I stumble, almost losing my grip on the datapad and accidentally hitting some buttons before I regain my grip on it.

When I sit down, one of the chapters of my book is open.

It's the one describing how Atris went to Jerslo III to save Atton.


	7. Chapter 7

**I WILL LIVE:**

**PATTERNS OF BETRAYAL AND REDEMPTION III --- Chapter 7**

&.

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**A/N:** As always, a big thumbs up to my beta-reader Trillian.

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**Visas. Dantooine**

There is much pain in this place.

All around me, nature is green but my Force sight shows the lies behind this verdant growth. The landscape is littered with spots where many people died violently. I know them from how the Force avoids them; its only presence being dark brown splotches that swirl like mud floating lazily in a bloated stream. These are places where Jedi died violently, the horror of their deaths not only captured in the memory of each Jedi's power, but also in the memories of those unconsciously connected to the victims.

Elsewhere, the Force seems injured, its flow halting, its paths erratic. The connections between trees, grass, birds, and all life… they should be thick and glowing with colour, throbbing with the sound of busy life. Instead, the connections seem to struggle, sometimes almost fading away before a desperate pulse thickens the cords. Such last gasp restorations last only a moment before the deterioration begins again.

The horrors that visited this place, however, live most strongly in the people. Around them, the Force looks like red, brittle edges that cut those that get too close. The connections between these people; they are even worse. This community that remains, it looks to me like an old, tattered spider web. Neglected, misused, the connections that should bind this community seem to be missing half their threads. The deep blue that comes from the respect for a mentor and the darting lighter blue of friendship. The swelling crescendo of deep red that marks growing lust and the lighter, crackling hue for anger. The brownish-green, sticky pools that mark an unhealthy jealously. The gently pulse of a slightly reddish gold that comes from the deep engagement in an activity.

I see all of these and more, but nothing near the thick, riotous connections of the Miraluka. It is as if this planet is headed implacably towards the dead void that is now Katarr, but as a slow, apathetic surrender rather than the violent snuffing out of hope.

And yet, as I make my way over the hills from the secret landing place of my ship to the small spaceport where the _Ebon Hawk_ sits, I begin to see that there is a counter current there. Weaving almost unnoticed among the despair and waning decay, small tendrils of growth and hope touch a woman who writes sad tales under a tree beside whose buds will soon burst into flower. Other threads wind through a small bed of red and yellow dappled flowers over the hill and sliding by the old man and woman who tend to them. They swirl around three Bith children at play outside an older building, and whisper mischievously in their ears of silly pranks and play. On the other side of this small square, the threads turn a deep purple as they seem to dance slowly to the sad, wistful song being sun by an attractive, purple-skinned Twi'lek woman stroking a gizka.

I continue following the threads farther, but then I find I'm drawn back to the Twi'lek. There is something peculiar about her… no about her and the gizka. I sense loose ends drifting aimlessly around them, threads cut from the deaths of loved ones, or the destruction of old selves. And yet, the links between them, they are much stronger than they should be between sentient and animal. Thick and golden red, the strands hum to a tune that could speak of a deep affection, and some kind of deeper interdependence too, as would exist between brother and sister, or loved ones when one or both help the other struggle with a trauma or deep pain.

But I can't be sure; it's so hard for me to tell these days. Emotions seem so strange to me now compared to the flares of stars and the slow heart beat of the universe.

I can see that this Twi'lek woman lies near to the old building, and not too far from the _Ebon Hawk_. I wonder if I should observe or avoid her. The light of the sky is failing, the lively whorls of the day giving way to the silvery and slippery ribbons of the night. I start to reach out with my senses, but the Exile is already there and, this close to her, I find to my surprise a small silvery thread connects me to her.

_How could we have bonded already?_ I certainly have not reached out to her and, as far as I know, she is not aware of my existence.

I examine the thread of our joining, trying to find something in it that is unusual. It feels like the connection between distant family, a joining that exists not through the experience of the other but through another—an uncle, a mother, a grandparent.

I try to find to find signs of the other entity that might have linked us. At first, I can perceive nothing, but after a while I begin to hear something, a mournful call that somehow supports and strengthens the bond between the Exile and I.

It is, I realize, the note that was Cigi's horn until my master tried to consume it. It had sped away from me, my master, belling out into space, but it had left its mark upon me to, a place hidden even from the painfully penetrating gaze of my master.

And then, when my master had left, it had returned. Like an echo, it had sounded the same and yet had been changed, filled with hints of stories from the places it has been. The Exile's stories.

_And in that moment, Cigi's dream tied my fate to the Exile's. But how… and why? _

I feel like I should think about it more, that I should decipher this mystery, but the Exile presence grows stronger and the mystery of it, and my own yearnings, makes it difficult for me to concentrate. I'm expecting to be overwhelmed by her presence, by the power that she must hold to contain the doorway to Al'keh with her.

And the strength is there, but it is muted. My master's hunger seems to rip one apart, his aura rippling with power at its edges like the penumbra of an eclipse. In the Exile, all I see are the tiny dim lights, the guardians I saw before, circling endlessly around the portal that Al'keh entered. These souls, somehow they are connected, but it is a shallow imitation of what Nihilus stole from my world. The slight, silvery mesh, like a frail spider web, stretches from one light to another. I'm not sure how it contains the impossible presence of Al'keh, but there is nothing in the woman I've sought that can stand up to my master's power. With Al'keh within her, she should be able to consume a planet's worth of life within moments, and yet her strength is like a candle compared to the black sun that my master is.

_So what will I do if he decides to pursue me, if he finds out that I'm trying to escape him? How will she stop him when he comes for her?_

I had thought that Nihilus avoided her because of her power, or at least her greater mastery of Al'keh. I had never considered this… travesty. She who I had thought would set me free, she is nothing. There was no way this broken being could stand up to him. For all the power that she could have, I sense so little strength within her. _My master could end her in moments and claim all of Al'keh for his own. I have lied to and defied my master for nothing! _

For the first time since I first discovered the Exile, I consider the price of failure. I had known in my mind that the consequences would be dire. Nihilus would not settle for just consuming me as he had my world. He would seek what I feared most and he would force it upon me.

_He will drain just enough of me so that I become one of his empty, shuffling slaves, a grey, weak ghost that circles endlessly around him like a dead moon. _

I've never been angry before, not even at my master. All around me, the Force seems to shimmer and crackle, and my white hot anger now pulls me to the Exile like flame to dry kindling.

_I will see her burn on my blade, and then I will return to my master and lay her head at his feet. And then I will find another way to Al'keh before he consumes the universe._

Gripping my lightsabre in my hand, I run towards the _Ebon Hawk_, determined to reach it ahead of my prey and ambush her.

I reach the ship perhaps ten minutes before the Exile and her companions will. They are fast approaching the old building I passed on my way here. I sense that, besides the Exile, there is a human male and female, and one male Zabrak. Surprisingly, the humans are difficult to read. They should not be. Neither are very powerful in the Force, and I'm not even sure if the male knows that he can use it. But the mind of the woman is like a dense jungle, full of shadows, hidden bogs, and other traps, and the male's thoughts are somehow weaved into and hidden by the monotonous repetition of pazaak counting sequences. Even the Zabrak, whose mind is more open, is hard to read. The pain within him is like a deep fog that shrouds his thoughts and emotions.

_I can't fight them all. Even though my Force strength is greater, I'm not enough of a warrior to take on four. I need them to separate._

The old woman… the Force tells me she is the key for what I want to do. Looking at her more carefully, I sense old, almost invisible ties to this place, a pale yellow of gentler times almost completely faded to grey. Gently, at the edge of the twisted old forest within her, I whisper of the bitter sweet memories of youth, of the hopes long faded, but not forgotten. Of the need to touch the past, if only for the moment.

I wonder if she will catch what I do, for I sense that she had great skill once. Soon, though, I sense the old woman speaking through my bond to the Exile. I feel the Exile's surprise, the questions in her mind that she wants to ask, but does not. And then, the old lady walks towards one of the nearby hills.

After that, the human male is easy to influence. There is a thick, sullen haze of need and lust that seems to surround the Zabrak, the human, and the Exile, surrounding the silvery threads that seem to join them. Genuine attraction would be colour the bonds red or gold; this haze seems a little unnatural to my senses.

But it is perfect fodder for my distraction.

The male's disquiet at the unfulfilled attraction is like an itch that he can't scratch, and he's yearning for escape that too much drink brings. So I draw upon the sounds and sensations of the nearby cantina—the clink of classes and the cloudy haze of drunken friendship—and I let free close to the edges of his mind.

And when the idea seems to take hold in the man's mind, I tweak the reddish-white knot of jealously, adding energy to it until the man is insisting that the Zabrak accompany him. "Come on," I hear the man say through the Exile's mind, "it's high time we men had some time to ourselves."

The Exile is puzzled, her aura wavers for a moment, but when the Zabrak balks at going to the cantina, I feel a pulse of apprehension within her. She doesn't want to be alone with him, I realize, because she's afraid of what she might do. She is drawn to them but she's not sure why. Though it takes a few minutes, the Exile pushes the Zabrak into accepting the human's offer and the two males head towards the nearby cantina.

As the Exile walks towards me, alone, her soul seems to throb in pain, contracting, wavering almost like some kind of diseased heart. _She has been hurt before, she was betrayed too many times, and the violation of her trust has left a twisted knot within her that may never disappear. _

Even as I make my way to the Exile's room, the place where I've decided to ambush her, I continue to study the pain within her, drawn to it in a way that's achingly familiar.

_There was a time_, I realize,_ when I might have healed that_.

The thought surprises me; I haven't thought of my days as a healer for so long. I don't want to. Those memories, they are even worse than the pain of my bond to my master. They are part of the knot within me, my everlasting wound, the place in me that still stretches towards all those that I lost in the death of Katarr.

I draw my lightsabre and activate it. The hissing, humming sound of the blade as it extends, the power that flows into me as the blade deadly edge forms out of nothingness, they pull me out of my dangerous reverie. My mind clear, I prepare for the Exile.

I think about hiding; it would be the wise thing to do. But I want my fake master to see my face before I cut her down. I want her to know her weakness, and what it has cost her… what it has cost me. I want… something else too, but I can't grasp what it is.

I can hear the clanking of feet on the metal floors. Her Force, the cadence of her walk, the taste of her anxiety, she is disturbed, off balance.

She walks into the room, doesn't notice me, wrapped in her thoughts, I guess, her head down. So wrapped up in her thoughts she is, I wonder for a moment if she would walk directly onto my blade if I said nothing and held it out.

But then she stops, and I feel her awareness of me. Her eyes shoot up and meet mine, but she does not draw her blade. The connection between us pulses, tenses, pulls us off balance and the women's eyes widen, just a little.

Those eyes. The depths of them are the black of Al'keh, and yet, the soul of them lives on the outside, the glint of a shimmering silver blade, just before it slices through the cloak of my master's hate and fear that is my second skin, and penetrates my heart…

"Who are you…" she starts to ask, but the pain of my sudden freedom, my fear, my confusion, it's too much. I can feel the voices of my sister, my family, rising up out of my heart, threatening the dark peace I have wrapped around myself since they had died.

I want it to go away, I'm too vulnerable. So I attack the Exile, though it's the memories I seek to drive back.

She steps back from my blade, saves herself from my first attack. But she's not quite fast enough and she gasps as my blade cuts a deep furrow in her right arm. I jab, driving my blade straight down the centre, but she steps to the side. The next attack comes straight down the centre of her body, but she steps in and to my left, hitting me rapidly with light jabs from her left hand so that I reel backwards.

When I was a true Miraluka, such an attack would not have been effective; my people lived a life in which the sensations of the body were a small part of our experience. But now, my connection to the community severed, the Force's presence but a whisper, the blows to my body overwhelm my senses, confusing me, putting me off balance so that I find it hard to get my bearings, to respond to the repeated attacks. I raise my hand and call upon the Force to push her back, but somehow, she seems to let my power flow through her, like a tree that bends before the storm but is unmoved, and then she grabs my extended hand and twists until my arm screams in pain. Without volition, I follow where she guides me, collapsing to the ground in front of her. Her knee slams into my chest and then my arm and I cry out, my body seems to collapse, implode, even as the Exile kicks the blade out of my hand. It bounces off the wall nearby and rolls backs towards us, but then the Exile stamps on it, her strength augmented by a power that flares all around her but not in her. The hilt crumples, the blade disappears.

I'm on my knees, gasping. I can't seem to breathe, it's as if I have no lungs to fill and yet part of me is trying to puzzle out what I saw, just at the end. The Force that she used, it was not from her, not in her, and yet…

But then my thoughts still, turn as one towards a point of light on my forehead, at the border where the cloth of my veil and my fragile flesh meet. Light fingers rest there, as light as a breath. The Exile, who can not know what she does, she is touching the centre of me, the point where what is seen meets that which is hidden.

My hand is free, for she let me go to touch this point in me and her other arm still hangs uselessly by her side and so I move to slap her hand away. The spot she is touching, there is no place more intimate for a Miraluka. But before I can move, her eyes pin me, the silver-grey warmth and the infinite, untouchable dark within them like two jaws of an inescapable trap.

"Who are you?" she asks again, calm, curious, as if her other arm is not hanging at her side, a victim of my blow. I wonder if she knows how easily she binds me. Her narrowed eyes part layers I don't even know exist within me and yet she does not invade, does not breach the defences that are surrendering so inexplicably easy before her.

Or perhaps it is the quiet voices of the dead within her that direct her, for I can hear them whispering to me, telling me to give in, to surrender.

The Exile starts, pulls her hand back as if she just noticed what it was doing. Freed, I bow my head, overwhelmed, confused. I don't understand all that is occurring, what I'm feeling right now. Why do the spirits within her talk to me, why do they pull me towards her when before they warned me away? Why do the Exile's eyes follow me everywhere, no matter where I turn my attention?

But thought I can't answer these questions, one thing is clear. "I yield... master."

"Why did you attack me?" the Exile asks. Her voice… In this moment of quiet, everything so unnaturally still where only she and I exist, I hear something in it that I can not place. It's both normal, slightly light perhaps, and yet there was something underneath it, a light humming, as if winds played over the strings of an ancient Miralukan _inges harp_.

But whatever it is, it draws me to her. All of her does. The eyes, the voice, the dark hair like the night, the silver fire around the black void that I see in the Force, they all draw me. _Perhaps it's the bond or perhaps the presence of Al'keh within her. _

But it does not matter know, for my head is spinning and my body failing. There has been too much that is unexpected, too much that is powerful and my body and mind are shutting down, refusing to engage anymore. I am so confused…so tired of being pulled across the galaxy by other powers. Al'keh, the Exile, life, they don't matter anymore in this moment. Even returning to the Force that lies to me seems acceptable now.

"Kill me," I gasp, my last ditch effort. "I beg you."

The Exile flinches, her eyes widen, but then she shakes her head.

"I must pay the price," I implore her. "You must kill me, for the only alternative is… worse than death and… and I would rather die by your hands."

But the Exile shakes her head again, even as my senses begin to swim and my body sway. I feel her arm wrap around me as I fall, lower me to the ground. As I fade, more slowly than I expect, I feel her fingers moving lightly over my body, probing and kneading as I descend towards a quiet darkness.

But the darkness doesn't claim me, though I hover but an inch from it. Something is preventing me, something is holding me here. Slowly, my vision clears and, somehow, I'm floating above the Exile as she works on my body with her hands. As she works on my body.

I'm in _Dasin_, a state of dislocation from our bodies that a skilled Miraluka can induce if they meditate. It is something we can do to heal the wounds of the mind and spirit. In this state, we can observe but can not be involved, we can participate, but can not take on any responsibility. Even the Force can not make any demands on us here. It is our refuge.

_I had forgotten about this, or was it knowledge that my master… my former master took from me. How could I have forgotten this, when I was once the one who trained others in it? And how did I end up here?_

The state is weak, frayed. I can feel my cares and pain pulling me away from here, forcing me to care about them again, forcing me to carry them, but slowly, sweetly _Dasin_ grows stronger.

_Is it the Exile who puts me here. How can she know about this? _Looking down on the Exile working, I can see that she is still using her left hand on her body. Her right arm still hangs by her side. Much of the wound was cauterized by the heat of my blade, but still a crimson river of life leaks from it, pooling at the end of her sleeve, and spilling itself on the metal floor.

The colour of her skin is lighter, greyer than before and I wonder if she is drawing on too much power, but as I look at her, I see that the Force barely stirs around her. Instead, it is my body that seems to be drawing the strength for the healing. I can see little dots of light on my body, slowly awakening, then joining, becoming like a web, as if the tapestry of stars against the black night that I've seen on Darth Nihilus' ship is somehow being mirrored on my poor frail body.

It's like a Miralukan healing, and yet not. Miraluka healers, like I was once, use the Force to make this happen, but we work on the connections that link the injured to the life around her, to make them stronger so that they can support she who is wounded. Mother to son, a painter to the colours in the sky, threads and more threads weaved into a cocoon of safety.

What the Exile is doing, what she is awakening comes from my body, leading my body to do what it needs to heal. I see now that she hesitates, that her hands move over my body as if searching for something. And I can see what her fingers feel, I can see the webs within my body that they trace, can sense the knots before her fingers unwind them.

I never knew that one body could contain connections as rich as the ones that bound a family or a society together.

And then I see that her weaving is doing something else. The bond between the Exile and I, it is growing thicker, stronger, growing more and more strands and I begin to sense—though only weakly for all that I am… was a Miraluka—the strands within the Exile. There are far more than in my own body, forming a web that defies normal time and space. Some links that disappear to places I can not sense, save that they span the farthest reaches of the galaxy. Some somehow join to the many rings and other pieces of jewellery around her body. And then there is the rich, deeper pattern within her. So many points of light, so many interwoven connections, even some that flicker in and out of existence, that feel as if they can not be but are anyway.

_What is she?_

_Dasin _is stronger now, firmly established until the Exile, or perhaps my own body, draws me back. Looking down, I see the Exile star to tilt to her left side. She pushes against the floor with her good hand, but too strongly, so that she falls the other way. A soft cry escapes her lips as she lands on her wounded arm. The pain must have overwhelmed her for she falls unconscious.

I'm not sure how long she lies there before the human and Zabrak males find her. The human one cries out, "Xi Lan!" and rushes forward, even as he pulls out a wicked looking vibrodagger and points it at me. His eyes seem to miss nothing as they dart around, and he quickly, but very gently, pulls the Exile away from me. "Keep an eye on that one," he instructs the Zabrak, "and pick up that crushed lightsabre."

As the Zabrak moves forward, the Exile whispers something. At first, Atton doesn't hear her, his attention focused on checking her for injuries. But she whispers again just as he finds the wound on her arm.

"What?" he says, putting his ear next to her mouth. "What do you mean 'heal her'? She cut you, for frack's sake, and you're bleeding like a stuck Gamorrean."

"It's okay now," the Exile whispers. Her lips move more, as if she's trying to say something else to the man, but then her eyes close and her body slumps.

"Sith's nuts, I hate Jedi!" the man swears. Turning to the Zabrak, he nods at my prone body, even as he pulls out a needle from a pouch in his belt. "Is she awake?" As the Zabrak checks my body, the man jabs the kolto needle into the Exile's arm, close to her injury. After that, he awkwardly lays on a bandage over the cut. Healing, I can see, his not one of his talents.

"This one's not conscious, Atton," the Zabrak says finally, "but she is alive. She doesn't seem to have any obvious wounds. I'm going to get the stretcher from the medbay."

The Zabrak leaves, and returns within a minute with a long, flat plastic board. Softly, his face creased with worry, Atton and Bao-Dur slide the Exile onto the stretcher.

"What about her?" the Zabrak asks, looking at my body.

Atton's face twists into a scowl as he considers me, his eyes dark and cold. "Just leave the schutta there, Bao-Dur."Around him are small dark red swirls of the Force, anger and hate made real by the unrealized and uncontrolled power within him. And deeper, beyond perhaps any sight but mine, a net of fine silver extends from his bond to the Exile, wrapping itself around his power, moving with it unnoticeably. From each strand of the web, tiny roots have tapped into his spirit. Those roots feed, drawing upon the life within this man, and yet, each place that they touch, the red within him brightens, shines as if the light within has been freed, and the guilt and anger within pushed to a darker corner.

Consciously or unconsciously, the Exile is awakening the power within Atton, feeding it, even as she seems to draw upon it too. And when, I look, I can see the same in the Zabrak, the same giving and taking and I wonder how many more people the Exile touches, near and far.

I wonder what they are becoming. But it is, I think, far too early to tell, for there is a feeling of youth, of nascent groping and learning to all of this. _Was this how the Miraluka started? Has it already started within me too?_

The Zabrak's voice jolts me out of my contemplation. "…and how would I bind her anyway, Atton? She was wielding a lightsabre, and so she can likely use the Force to undo any robe or wire."

Atton spits a curse and fingers his weapon as he considers me anew, even as his hand rests gently on top of the Exile. "Where in the hell is the Handmaiden or Kreia when we finally need them?"

Bao-Dur doesn't say anything, his eyes staring off in the distance as he considers their predicament. "I think," he says finally, "that we need to bring them together. Is the General in any danger?"

Atton's jaw clenches as he responds, "I'm no medic, but I think she'll be okay. But I still say we just kill this schutta and tell the Exile that she fled."

"Atton, do you really think that would fool the General?" the Zabrak asks. His voice, his manner, despite everything they radiate calm, urge patience. The outer face of him, it is such a striking contrast from the pungent, marsh green of guilt and hate within him, a stinking bog that he surrounds with routine, discipline, and the shining words of a vow stronger than any I have ever seen. It's as if the vow is written in words on the Force, so deeply are they written into the Zabrak's soul: "The General, and no other."

"Fine," Atton says, his voice sharp with bitterness. "You drag the schutta and I'll pull Xi Lan on the stretcher. But if she stirs, even a little, you hit her until she stops moving, okay?"

Bao-Dur looks down at me sadly for a moment, but then his eyes turn to the Exile and he nods slightly. Atton lifts one end of the stretcher, and starts to pull, keeping the angle as flat as possible, while Bao-Dur pulls me carefully by my armpits.

They place the Exile on the medbay's bed and then the Zabrak finds a small cot for me in the hallway nearby. After that, they take turns checking on the Exile, agreeing finally that there's nothing they can do except wait for the old woman, whom they call "Kreia," to return or for the kolto to do its job.

"Who's going to keep watch first?" asks Atton, scratching his chin.

"I'm fine," Bao-Dur says. "Go get some sleep."

Atton hesitates, and a look of calculation crosses his face before he quickly hides it. Nonchalantly, the man shrugs, then nods even as a phrase spills out of the closed barriers of his mind: _she won't wake up on his watch_.

"Just make sure you wake me up in about four hours. And don't ask the old hag or the frackin' Echani to watch over them. I still don't trust either of them farther than I can throw a Gamorrean."

Bao-Dur doesn't say anything, though Atton clearly waits for his reaction. Instead, he pulls out a small chair and some tools from the small bag on his waist. Within moments, he has a panel open in the wall of the medbay, and is inspecting some of the wires inside.

Atton watches the Zabrak work for a while, glancing at the Exile many times. Finally, shaking his head, he walks off towards the other dorm.

When Atton is out of sight, Bao-Dur stops his work, cocking his ear. After a moment, he gets up and walks slowly towards the hallway leading to the dorms, looking down its length. The Zabrak looks both ways and seems to listen too. After a while, the sounds of snoring can be heard and the Zabrak smiles briefly, before he moves back to the small chair. After sitting down, he pulls out my crushed lightsabre, and then a small sensor ball that had been tucked onto his belt.

"Let's see if we can fix this," he says softly and to my surprise, the floating ball seems to respond with a series of beeps. Gently, Bao-Dur probes the hilt of my blade with his tools, murmuring quietly to himself as he does so. The sensor ball starts to move around, almost as if it's patrolling the area.

Bao-Dur's hands are gentle and skillful, but it still takes the Zabrak an hour to pry open the crumpled hilt. He's just beginning to examine the wiring when he stops, cocking his ear. Listening, I hear the soft footsteps ascending the ramp of the ship. By the time I look back at Bao-Dur, all of the pieces of my lightsabre have been stowed away. I guess from the speed he just showed, this is not the first time that he has hidden a project from prying eyes.

"What has happened here?" the woman demands, sweeping into the hallway then stopping before my prone body. Her eyes, they are all white and yet even in _Dasin_ I can feel the keen edge in the gaze that she turns on the Zabrak. "And why is this Sith not dead?" she continues, bending down towards me as her hand reaches towards a vibrodagger in her belt.

In the Force, Bao-Dur seems to shy away from the woman, his aura lightening, thinning, straining away from the impenetrable, swirling grey mist that surrounds the woman. But to the eyes, his body doesn't move, his expression remains calm, untouched.

"The Exile wants her alive," he says, his gentle voice lined with a surprising hint of steel.

The old woman's hand, which had been reaching for a dagger in her belt, stops but her scrutiny of my unoccupied flesh continues. "She is Miraluka," the woman whispers after a while, a small cruel smile, her voice rising as she continues, "and a Sith. My _apprentice_ still has much to learn."

"Excuse me?" says Bao-Dur, but the woman ignores his question. Standing up, she turns her head towards him.

"Keep an eye on this one and let me know as soon as either the Exile or the Miraluka wake." Bao-Dur doesn't respond at first, but the woman waits, her sightless eyes fixed squarely on his face until he finally nods. "And if you need to rest," she continues, her voice laced with a hint of disdain, "make sure that Atton watches them while you sleep." The Zabrak nods again, but the woman is already turning away, and then walking towards the sleeping bay where I ambushed the Exile.

This time, the Zabrak waits longer before he brings out my broken lightsabre, and again I marvel at his care and patience as he studies it. Finally, he begins to take the rest of the hilt apart, piece by piece. Each time he removes something, he considers the whole hilt again, and I wonder if he is trying to remember what it looks like at each stage. And yet, he doesn't take notes, doesn't use the datapad nearby to take holographs, doesn't organize the removed pieces in anyway that I can discern.

_Which means that he is either incredibly careless or has an incredible memory and understanding of machines_. From the aptitude of his fingers, I suspect the latter.

The lightsabre is almost completely disassembled by the time another arrives at the landing ramp. This one, like the old woman before, has a light complexion and white hair, but she is young and filled with sharp clean lines where the older one face had seemed to contain a thousand nooks and crannies.

_This one, too, has much potential for the Force_. The Echani's aura is like ice—almost clear, shaped into clean lines that speak of years of rigid discipline and training. _So rigid... It's as if she's a statue, and can't change or adapt. _But when I look closer, I see the threads of the Exile's strange power here too, and everywhere they touch the Echani, it's like the ice is melting, slowly but inexorably, and occasionally pulses of shimmering white light move through the structure. I can almost hear the cracks forming.

Like the old woman before, she demands that Bao-Dur tell her what happened, her eyes never leaving me as she listens, sharper than the blade that hangs on her back. "I will take your place," she says when the Zabrak finishes telling her what he knows. I think he wants to deny her, but she's already settling down on the floor, resting her back on the door frame that separates the Exile and me. The Zabrak picks up the bag in which he's put all the lightsabre pieces and steps over her into the hallway.

"Remember," he says, "the Exile wants this one alive." Then he walks away towards the bay where Atton sleeps.

It's only a minute before Atton shows up, his hair unkempt and his clothes crumpled. "I've got this one, sister," he says, but she ignores him, pulling her blade free instead. With the ease and absorption of long practice, she pulls out a vibrating stone and starts sharpening her blade.

Atton swears under his breath, and then steps over the Echani to settle at the foot of the medbay bed, consciously, I sense, inserting himself between the pale warrior woman and the Exile. Pulling out a set of flat cards, he plays a game on the ground while muttering softly to himself. But I can't hear what he is saying, for the pazaak counting in his mind is too loud.

_What a strange group that travels with the Exile, and yet they are all connected through her. How many are there like this, how many souls connected to the Exile? And is she the only focal point or are there others around whom all these souls revolve? The Miraluka have always been interconnected, but each being was connected to each and every other being. Our society had been a thick, dense web, not this wheel-like pattern that I saw around the Exile. Nor had any of our bonds ever tapped directly into another's power like the Exile's did._

It was all very strange, intriguing, and very very frightening. Because now that I've seen the Exile and her strange powers up close, I can not kill her. Doing so, it would be like walking in Darth Nihilus' place, surveying the ashes of my world. And so, even as I had originally planned before I understood the magnitude of the risk, I have to serve the Exile, to help her do whatever it is she is doing. It is as if the Exile holds a child in her arms, though this child might grow to be an entire civilization. I won't let this nascent community die, even at the price of my life.

There is nothing to watch now, nothing to think about. My course is set. As the Handmaiden sharpens her blade, and Atton shuffles his pazaak cards, I let my mind wander, lose itself in the movement of the Force.

----------------------------

The Exile wakes up the next day. The Handmaiden has just left to cook breakfast, so it was Atton who hears her breathing quicken, deepen, who looks into her eyes almost before they open. "Are you alright?" he says softly, and then I can see him catch himself, his spirit retreat, the counting redouble in strength. "Because, well… we need our fearless leader if we're going to continue dealing with the scavenger trash left on this planet. And I include this supposed Jedi Master in that list."

The Exile looks confused as Atton speaks, her eyes darting around the room for a few moments before understanding dawns. "The woman, is she alright?"

"You mean the Sith who almost chopped off your arm, and a few other pieces?" Atton says, his voice now hard and angry. "The comfortably unconscious one we've had to watch all night because you want to be nice to your assassin?" Then he snorts. "And you say you're not a Jedi."

"I'm not a Jedi, Atton," she says immediately, but the sharpness of the words are light, with the edge of habit rather than any true anger. "So, how is she?" the Exile continues, and then she gasps as she tries to move her arms to push herself up.

"A lot better than that arm of yours," Atton drawls. He puts his arms around the Exile to help her up and, after a moment of hesitation, she lets him. It's like they are both holding their breath as he pulls her up, his touch surprisingly gentle.

But it's her jewellery that snatches my attention. Somehow I missed it before, or perhaps thought of them as nothing but an idiosyncrasy. The rings, necklaces and bangles clink softly as she rises, but to the Force it sounds like a symphony is awaking, painting the sky and ear with a thousand instruments that ease into their harmony. From them, another multitude of silver, and even some lightly golden threads that seem to weave themselves into the Exile's body.

One is particularly thick, a heart-blood red and gold bond that extends from a large earring on her left ear. Looking at it closer, I see that it shows two hands holding together a half-broken heart made from a large, almost glowing gem.

_It seems strange, these connection the Exile has formed with these material rings, bangles and other jewellery she wears. Even the most devoted artisan on Katarr never bonded with their creations._

"Who is she?" the Exile says, and my attention is yanked from its musing by the light touch of her hand on my arm.

"Well, let's put it this way. Now I can say I've seen everything," Atton drawls. Then he surprises me as he continues, for his voice has a touch of wonder in it. "She's a Miraluka. I didn't think any were left in this part of the galaxy."

"Miraluka?"

"Yeah, they're a pretty secretive race. They claim to see on a higher plane than we do, you know, the whole Force thing. Makes me nervous. I heard that some of their kind become Jedi, but a Sith? That's... well, that's a new one."

"Where do you think she came from?" The Exile has not taken off her hand, and I can feel the bond between us thicken, fill with new threads of silver that wind around the different parts of me, as if claiming me. And yet, the silvery rope that connects us begins to be filled with red and black lines loop themselves through and around her silver ones, winding there way up the bond and inserting themselves into the web of her power. This link with her, I can see it, it's a sharing, like the ones I had given up, scorned after my people died. A sharing I have miss so terribly that its presence now terrifies me. And it will only grow more intimate, I fear. I will never escape her.

"I heard they had a colony on the Mid Rim," Atton continues, and I throw my attention into the words of the conversation, hoping to escape my terror in its banality, "almost halfway between Onderon and Dantooine. Then... it wasn't there anymore. The whole planet was wiped out, nothing left alive, no one knows why.

_Not another!_ The despair that screams in the Exile, it's so powerful, has so many voices that I can see Atton flinch, and I can sense the others stir throughout the ship. But I don't think Atton heard her, because he looks around briefly, as if trying to find the location of his sudden discomfort.

As for the Exile, she seems frozen, the only sign of the pain within her a couple of tears that secret themselves at the edge of her eyes, out of Atton's sight.

But not out of mine, and for the first time since my people died, I see that a living being understands what happened to my people.

After a moment, she speaks, though she has to restart when her voice gives out. "Did more of them survive?"

Atton doesn't answer for a moment, just looks at her with eyes narrowed. But the Exile doesn't say anything, and the tears have already dried, so he answers, though his eyes continue to look around. "Well, it _was_ a planet of her people. So, if they see through the Force, who knows? Maybe they all saw something through the Force that we can't see, and they left before it happened... or maybe it killed them."

"I think… I think it killed them. I can sense the death of so many on her," the Exile whispers. "I can hear their cries…"

His face speaks of his disbelief, but the Exile can not see, for her eyes are locked on me. Again gently, Atton puts his arm around her, squeezing her, though he is careful not to touch her injury.

The Exile doesn't move for a long moment, and then her head starts to lean towards him. It stops short though, and she straightens herself and pushes away from Atton as footsteps approach from the cargo bay.

"Will she recover?" the Exile asks after a moment, her voice almost normal, though she has to clear her throat after finishing.

I can see the disappointment on Atton's face, feel the frustration slither for a moment through his aura like a snake in the grass, but he quickly composes his face, the half-smile fitting like a well-worn shirt. "Well, some of her wounds are pretty bad," he says as the Handmaiden rounds the corner. "It looks like she was already carrying her share of scars, though. But yeah, I think she'll recover."

"Tell me when she wakes," the Exile says, and then walks away towards the centre room.

The Echani follows, moves beside the Exile, her stride bold beside the smaller woman's soft gliding step.

"She is a threat to us," the Handmaiden says, her voice sharp, cold like a blade of ice.

"She was, but no longer," the Exile sighs, stopping and facing the Echani with her arms crossed. "Besides, what would you have me do?"

"I am not asking that she be harmed or interrogated, but she is of the Sith. And she has attacked you once already."

"Nonetheless, she is no longer a threat."

_But you are wrong, Exile. I am a danger to you_. I try to project my thoughts at her, hoping that she will hear me_. You should not trust one such as I. You should not trust anyone, even this pale one whose heart is good._ The Exile's expression, however, does not change.

As the Echani responds, I wonder if the pale woman heard my plea, for her thoughts echo mine. "Perhaps your judgement is incorrect in this matter." Her voice is quiet at first, but grows in determination with each word. "I believe the prudent course would be to keep under guard at least."

"I understand your feelings in this matter, but…" The Exile hesitates, and she seems unable to continue. I can see in her aura, can feel in our growing bond, old pains and doubts gnawing at her conviction. I think the Echani senses it too.

"She should not be allowed to walk freely on the ship," the Echani finishes, her voice bold, sharp as it delivers the final blow.

But the Exile surprises her, and me.

"And yet," she says, and though she still speaks quietly, the Exile's voice is filled with authority, "you will let her do so."

The Echani says nothing as the Exile walks away.

----------------------------

**Toxel, _The Sour Twi'lek_**

Is it the loneliness of the Miraluka that makes the tears roll down my face as I put down the lightsabre, or is it my own?

I wish I could talk with Atris, about something mundane or dryly intellectual. Anything that spoke of companionship, light-hearted fun rather than these overwhelming wants or losses that I've immersed myself since I was too young.

But there is nothing to do on this ship and Atris is making it clear that I should stay away from her. I have not seen her since our wondrous, yet so disastrous kiss, though three days have passed.

Perhaps she will abandon me when we arrive at our destination, leaving me to continue this journey alone.

Can I do this without her? I'm not sure, but I know I can't stop; I've already turned my back on everything else that I was close to. I must continue, no matter what the cost.

_Like Visas. _The thought is unbidden, and I shiver, the room suddenly colder, darker.

----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----

**A/N**: Writing Visas is really fascinating, but also draining. I'm guessing it might be a bit tiring to read as well. Anyhoo, the next chapter at least will be from the perspective of someone else. I already have a growing Bao-Dur section for it. That's for you, Trillian! 


	8. Chapter 8

**I WILL LIVE: PATTERNS OF BETRAYAL AND REDEMPTION III **

**Chapter 8**

----------------------------

**A/N:**

1. Many thanks to Trillian as always for the excellent beta. I changed a lot of stuff based on her comments, and I didn't give it back to her to beta. So all silly spelling and grammatical errors belong to Microsoft Word's faulty spell-checker ;)

2. My apologies again for the long delays between chapters. RL's demands on me these days make it very hard to find writing time.

----------------------------

**Bao-Dur. Dantooine**

"That Jedi Master… what was his name," Atton drawls, clearly enjoying himself, "Crook, Cookie, Spook…?"

"Vrook," the General chuckles. Their voices are carried into the ship by the soft warm breeze that drifts through the ship's open landing ramp. The smell of the lush growth outside beckons to my Zabrak soul, urging me to run and sweat outside, but it is weak compared to the heady scent of wire, lubricant and the call of my new puzzle.

I'm sitting in the garage beside the workbench, its sides open and wires hanging out. The General's crew think I'm working on improving the bench, and I was. What they don't know is that I finished three hours ago.

I usually finish tasks more quickly than people expect and that's the way I like it. It's something I've always taken advantage of, to make time for the work that I want to do, the projects that others wouldn't support—for example, making Cee, "my remote," into a conscious entity. Now I'm using the empty space I've created inside the workbench to try out a new part I made for the Miraluka's lightsabre. I want to see how it fits, and what the finished product will look like, to see if it fits with the mental model I constructed in my mind.

"Whatever… did you really train under him?"

"Thankfully, no," the General sighs, "but I did have to sit through many of his lectures on Jedi Theory and Ethics. Nearly failed them both."

"Really…" Atton drawls, as I try to imagine my chosen leader as a struggling student. "I thought you Jedi were supposed to know everything."

"As you saw yesterday from the droid's holovideo, there are only two things Master Vrook thinks I know: one, which end of the lightsabre to hold and, two, how to cause trouble."

"Seems like he got it right," Atton laughs easily.

"I still wonder how I ever became a Jedi Knight," the General says. There's a note of sadness in her voice, and somehow I can hear the tinkle of her earrings, know that she is shaking her head slowly right now. I don't know why or how, but there are these bubbles in time where I can sense the General's moods, know what she's thinking. Then the feeling disappears again, leaving me to wonder whether it was an illusion.

I would dismiss them, but they seem to be happening more and more frequently. _So much has changed since the General crashed on Telos._

That fateful day when I had found the General's body lying in the wreckage of the crashed shuttle, what a miracle it had been. The probabilities are too small for it to be anything else.

Even then, when fate gave me the chance to finally find her, it had almost not happened. When I first saw her that day, I hadn't recognized her. Seeing her prone body lying supine amidst the growing flames, covered with those elaborate and outrageous trinkets, I had thought about leaving her to die. _More Exchange thugs_, I had thought of the General and her friends.

Then she had muttered something.

I don't remember what she said, but the words didn't matter. It was the timber of her voice, or the cadence, or maybe something else. I'm no poet to put words to that moment of insight. In the end, I suppose, there's just something about her voice that I will always recognize.

Still, even after I had dragged her body away from the fire, and those of her companions, I was not been sure. Looking down upon her sooty face was not enough either. The face was hers, though it was filled with new lines of age and too familiar pain. But the large and small gleaming pieces that lined her ears, the three rings in her nose, the elaborate necklaces, all the jewellery… it was so strange.

I even checked to see if they were part of some small clever machine. They were not, at least not as far as I could tell.

_I still wonder sometimes, though. _

It was only during our conversation after she woke that I had truly been sure it was her. I recognized her in how she had reacted when I called her "General." She had never been comfortable with her rank, and there was a way that her eyes darted to the side for a brief moment, a tightening of the brows, that I will never forget.

Since then, I've always wanted to ask her about the jewellery, but I've never been able to find the courage. The look seems so wild for the quiet, caring leader I discovered during the last few weeks of the war. The only explanation that I can think of is that the chaotic jumble of rings, earrings, and other metal assortments on her body are like my energy arm, a way of carrying the horrors of that war that the soul can not bear by itself.

I shake my head gently to push away my thoughts. Atton is telling the General a joke about a Rodian smuggler and a Jedi. I can't quite follow the humour, but the Exile laughs as he recites the punch line dryly. _Does she really get the joke, or is she just laughing to make him happy?_ It doesn't matter, though, for the surprising jealousy I feel remains the same for either option.

I envy Atton for the easy way he can interact with the General. Despite how often she has tried to tell me otherwise, to me she will always be my superior, a leader I follow not laugh with. It's not really a choice. I want to be more at ease with her, but I spent so many years waiting for the General to show up again, keeping my image of her alive in my mind until I couldn't imagine her as anything else.

That is, except the times she works on her jewellery.

How she handles her tools when she works, and puts them carefully away when she is done. The undivided attention she gives to whatever she is working on. The gleam in her eye when she holds a completed piece in her hands, and thinks no one is looking. I know those feelings like I know the purring sound of my arm of light, or the weight of a Hylindian power wrench in my hand.

"Morning has arrived," the Exile says softly, and I look up to see a thin, brilliant ray of yellow light pierce the shadows of the garage. "We need to get going. We have a full day ahead of us."

"I still don't like the idea of going into a cave full of Kinrath," Atton says, his voice full of exaggerated doubt.

"That's perfect then, because I've got another task for you. Someone needs to talk with those mercenaries again."

"Not all mercenaries are bad, you know, even the Mandalorian ones."

"And that's something I know well," the General laughs merrily, and Atton joins in, though I think this it's him who doesn't get the punch line. I do, though, for the General was known as someone who never hated the Mandalorians. She had even been known to talk amicably with them in the brief truces during the war. It was one the aspects of her that Revan exploited to turn the army against her at the end.

"I just have this feeling," she continues after a moment, "that Captain Zherron might be right about them. We need to find out more and I doubt they'll talk to me—"

"They would if you were a bit more 'friendly,'" Atton says, drawing out the last word.

Xi Lan's voice is as hard as spaceship grade durasteel when she answers. "Don't give me that 'friendly' cannock poodoo, Atton. Are you going to do it or not?"

"Look, oh fearless leader, it's just that I don't like leaving you alone. Bao-Dur is too busy bowing to his "General" to be of much use, the Last Handmaiden is about as trustworthy as her mistress, and… well I don't think you should spend time with that Kreia. Every new ounce of power she gets, that sandshark becomes more and more strange, if you ask me."

"She may be hard, Atton, but Kreia's alright."

"How do you know, given that you still can't touch the Force most of the time? Who knows how often that old bat is mucking around in your mind?"

"We're bonded, Atton," the General says, her voice slightly defensive, "which means that we know what each other are doing and feeling half the time."

I don't need to see Atton to know that he is mocking a shiver right now. He does it every time the General mentions her Force bond with Kreia, but this time he makes a suggestion instead of a wisecrack. "I don't know how you can stand that. Can't you just cut the bond?"

"No." The General's voice, hard before, is now as sharp as a freshly cut sheet of durasteel. "Never again. Go, and take the Last Handmaiden with you."

"You can't be serious—" Atton starts to say, but then he sighs as the General's footsteps clank up the landing ramp.

_If only she had been like that during the War_, the disloyal thought pops into my head. It's from the part of me that still tries to hide from my old infidelity, the betrayal that was supposed to save the Republic. Instead, two fleets died an unending death, and an entire world was shattered. More if one counted the worlds that were destroyed during the wars that followed.

Pushing down my anxiety, I slowly close tuck the half-assembled lightsabre into a small compartment I made inside the workbench. As the General enters the room, her eyes distant and black, I'm already putting the wires back inside the workbench. But suddenly, a new idea about how to reconfigure the system to reduce power leaks blossoms in my head. I hesitate, unsure whether to test out the new idea, until the General's voice cuts through my indecision.

"Let's go," she says, her voice filled with authority, and I scramble up, after making leaving my work obviously unfinished.

It takes me a few moments to get my armour on and to grab the new blaster rifle we purchased earlier in the settlement here. I don't use it that well, for my dexterity is mostly reserved for still targets like electronic and mechanical parts. But it does soften up the enemy before I have to use my fists.

Luckily, I'm much better hand-to-hand. That's the one advantage of my electromagnetic arm; it packs quite the wallop.

I meet the General and the Miraluka at the bottom of the landing ramp. Atton and the Last Handmaiden have already left, and I don't know where Kreia is. I ponder asking the General, but her face and eyes are still dark and she walks off when I arrive, leaving no opportunity to bring the matter up.

I follow, walking beside the Miraluka. The blind woman is about the same height as the General, though her body is fuller. Unlike the almost gliding stride of our leader, the distinct sway to the Miraluka's walk seems designed to provoke attention. Her clothes only add to the distraction.

Her dark red robes cling tightly to her full body and I can't help wondering who chose them for her. The thick, slightly rough material seems to fit the deep voice she seldom uses, and its deep crimson matches the full, red lips that grace her face.

And yet, despite all that is seductive about her, I sense that the Miraluka is unaware of how she draws the gaze of Atton and me, almost against our wills. Ever since she woke up, her only focus has been the General. Like a shadow, she seems to appear at my leader's side when she is about to leave the ship. Even more mysterious to me, the General seems to accept her presence there without question.

I think there have been times when Atton or the Echani thought about protesting the blind Sith's seemingly automatic place by the General's side, but there never seems to be room for that discussion. Each day is busier and busier, the tasks we need to accomplish increasing despite our best efforts, even though they never seem to lessen the danger we all feel grows without check.

What I do know is that while my mind tells me that I should be suspicious, some instinct prevents me from worrying. There is only one reason for that hesitant trust that I can think of. Even without the Miraluka, we are an improbable band of misfits. An exiled Jedi General leads us, her body ridden with jewellery but lacking a lightsabre or much command of the Force. Gliding like a semi-trained maalraas, the smuggler, and likely bandit, moves too quietly when we approach an enemy and blends too easily into the different crowds we meet. The Handmaiden, an unyielding and too vigilant protector who was, or still is, the servant of the General's sworn enemy, the Jedi Atris. The sightless, too perceptive Jedi Kreia, whose past neither she nor the General will reveal. And then me, who wonders every day whether his leader will finally realize how he betrayed her. I'm still too scared to confess.

It makes me wonder who will be the next to join us, and what wounds and strange quirks they will have.

The sun is already high when we reach our destination. "It was beautiful once," the General breathes, her voice barely audible. The Miraluka and I don't say anything, and we wait beside our leader as her eyes roam edges the building and the grounds around it.

Finally, Visas surprises the General and I, breaking the silence with her husky voice. "This place is like the empty shell on a beach, carrying the distant whispers of people not seen."

The General and I nod at the same time. I think the Miraluka's words are perfect for describing the place. Somehow, the broken building before us seems to be wrapped in a deep history that I can feel but not grasp. I keep straining to hear the voices that seem like they should be there, and keep looking for the people milling around but they never appear. Only the ivy hanging down the cracked walls stirs, following the whims of the wind.

"Let's go," the Exile sighs, walking towards the complex without waiting for our reply.

----------------------------

I'm still not sure how the blond man ended up with us, even though I was there when we first met him.

We're all sitting just outside the _Ebon Hawk_. The sun is setting in front of us, its last yellow rays slicing through a clear purple-tinted sky. It all seems too relaxed given the two new crew members we've picked up in the week we've been here. First, the Miraluka and now this man who calls himself, "the Disciple."

I guess we all have our stories.

Somehow, despite the good looks of his smooth face, blue eyes, and well-proportioned body, there is something unremarkable about him, something surprisingly nondescript. For a man who should stand out, he seems easy to ignore and take for granted.

Perhaps it is his face. There is some kind of innocence or inherent goodness that seems to burn beneath the bland, polite exterior that makes it impossible to think of him as a threat. _Especially when he bows_, I snort quietly, _like he did when we first met him. _Each time he does it, I'm reminded of those old holovids I used to watch as a child about the romantic, ancient times.

_Whatever he's doing, it's working._ I suppose I shouldn't worry about him. He was unarmed when we met him, and insists on remaining so now. He had told the General to "wait until I have demonstrated my trustworthiness," when she had offered him a vibrosword and a suit of armour. I had been surprised by how easily our leader had acquiesced.

Still, though I find it hard to distrust him, I still wonder about him. Like how he reacted when the General mentioned that he looked familiar. His response had been too smooth, too quick. A normal person would have hesitated, perhaps asked a few questions of the other to ascertain whether they might have met somewhere, in some probable location. Instead, he had implicitly hinted that they had never met and yet had really said nothing of the sort.

And then there was his mission: looking for the Jedi. If he's really looking for the Jedi, then he seems ill-prepared. He wasn't armed, and doesn't seem to be that much of a fighter. Given all the Jedi that had been killed recently, he has to be either a fool or much more powerful than he pretends to be. I think I prefer the fool option, but I think it's the latter instead.

_Maybe it's me who is the fool. Why am I trying to second guess the General? I'm just a mechanic whose blindness to the ways of organic sentients led to the destruction of Malachor V and the General's fleet._

I feel a bit better when Atton shows up. His eyes find the Disciple as soon as he comes within sight, and his arms are tight by his side and his brow furrowed as he strides up to our new companion. I don't know how Atton figured out that the blond man has joined the Exile's crew, but the dark haired, self-styled protector of the General gets straight to the matter.

"Look," he says, his words clipped and hard, "we're already full up. We don't need anyone else, we travel light."

"It's okay, Atton," the General says, descending the ramp. She's wearing the plain black clothes she always seems to wear, but this time her midnight black long hair hangs loose down her back, the thick locks gently moving as she walks. As she reaches the bottom, her long, graceful hands reach back and begin to gather the strands.

Somehow the sight is strangely compelling. It's like seeing a power inverter with a reversed PP-5 configuration for the first time, and realizing that the thing in front of you is nothing like you thought it was.

I glance at Atton and the Disciple, and I see that the Disciple blushes slightly. Atton seems less affected, but he's been with her the longest. _Perhaps he has seen it before_. Still, there is something about his stance that is too casual, practiced and, again, I find myself wishing that I understood non-machines better.

"Are you sure you want to take this guy with us?" Atton says, his voice half-full of doubt, then switching to an easy drawl. "I mean, he's easy on the eyes, but I bet he talks like a roomful of Jedi."

I laugh and the General's eyes twinkle as she pulls her hair across the lower half of her face. Either Atton has already met the blond man or he has somehow read him in a second. I can't help remembering the careful, gentle voice of the Disciple as he was explaining to us what had happened to the Jedi back in the destroyed Jedi enclave.

"He's very knowledgeable about the Jedi and its history," said the General. "Considering, as you know already, that I'm terrible when it comes to facts and history, I thought it would be useful to have him along. Besides," she continues, nodding to the blond man, "the Disciple is apparently an accomplished healer as well."

"Fine," Atton says, his voice flat and his words clipped, "bring him along. I'll just go prepare the celebration feast." Without another word or look at the blond man, Atton disappears up the landing ramp of the ship.

The Disciple looks at the General after Atton disappears, concern on his face. "Should I go talk with him? Or should I leave?"

The General's gaze had followed Atton up the ramp, and now she's chewing lightly on her hair as the Disciple waits for her answer. "No," she says after a moment, distracted, "it's alright. He's always like this when a new person joins us. I'll go talk to him." Then she places her hand on my arm. "Can you find the Disciple somewhere to put his things?"

When I nod, the General smiles briefly, then heads up the ramp, dropping her half-braided hair so that it floats behind her. I can't help wondering if she does it on purpose, as a way to soften Atton up.

If she did, it doesn't work. She comes back five minutes later, her face troubled, and Atton does not join us for dinner.

----------------------------

I'm not sure what compels me to seek out Atton after dinner. We've never really said much to each other except for the necessary exchanges that our business together requires.

We're certainly very different. He likes to laugh and joke and never seems to be able to settle his attention on anything for very long. His eyes remind me a little of Cee, my sensor ball and companion, always restless, drifting at to the tune of each moment's whim. And he's always watching me out of the corner of his eye, even when he's directly facing me. If there's one expression I can read on humans, it's calculation.

Also, there is a darkness hidden underneath his easy manner that that I recognize too easily. It's something that we all seem to share, even the General. The wars have been difficult for so many, and our crew seems to be attracting some of the hardest hit.

The only person who doesn't seem to share this hidden pain is the Disciple, but I've just gotten to know him. Somehow, I think I'll find it eventually, hidden under that careful and pleasant mask he wears.

The door to the cockpit is open, and yet I still feel like I'm trespassing when I enter. Atton is sprawled across the pilot's seat, his legs up on the control panel, his right arm draped over the top of the leaning chair, and his left arm carefully wrapped around a full glass of Dantooine Flash Fire.

"Pull up a seat," Atton says as I enter, not moving or otherwise acknowledging me. As I settle down, Atton reaches down into the control panel and pulls out a half-clean glass and, to my surprise, an almost full bottle of the fiery liquid.

I guess my surprise must have shown on my face, because Atton smirks as he pours the golden-green liquid and then hands it to me. "It's not that much fun getting drunk alone," he drawls, as we clink our glasses together. "At least, not anymore."

It's the first time I've drank the local alcohol, and it's surprisingly good. The liquid tingles like an unshielded wire down my throat, and for a moment my vision seems to blur and twist, even as my belly settles into a gentle, contented warmth.

"Another?" asks Atton after a moment, and I nod, holding my glass out.

Three, maybe four shots follow and I'm feeling pretty relaxed now. Everything has a soft glow to it, like an Iridonian hyperspace engine as it cools in Elexium gas after a long run. The pain I've carried since Malachor V seems wonderfully distant now.

"Can I ask you a question?" Atton says. I don't really want to talk to Atton now. Though I came here originally for that reason, now I just want to enjoy this moment in peace. But there's this almost pleading expression on his face that I find impossible to deny.

"Okay," I say, trying to sound patient.

"Won't take more than a minute."

"Mmm…"

"Look, Xi Lan… your General. You know her from way back, don't you? How much do you know about her, really?" Atton's face is uncharacteristically earnest as he speaks, like he has suddenly discovered that his blaster had more parts than an ammunition clip and the hole at the end.

"You mean the General?" Atton nods and I sigh. Anyone who knows me can tell that I'm no good when it comes to understanding people. _But Atton doesn't know me, I suppose_. "Yeah, during the war, if that's what you mean by way back. Can't say I know too much about her, though."

"Better than anyone else on this ship. Just give me your opinion, okay? And don't laugh."

My fingers suddenly itch for tools, wires, or something else to hold and work with. It takes all that I have not to open up one of the panels in front of me, but somehow I manage to content my fingers with swirling the half-full glass in my hands.

"I was just wondering if you thought, maybe, she and I might…" and the Atton's voice trails off, so uncharacteristically uncertain that I have to look at him. He fidgets.

_Okay, ask the question_. "Might what?"

"You know… warm up the old ion engine or something…"

I suddenly remember a conversation that my brother had with me when I was sixteen. I had been building my first speeder from scratch when he had approached me, using parts I had salvaged from the local junkyards. _That beautiful machine was rough, but it had heart. I still miss it._ _But what was it that my brother wanted to talk to me about that day…? Oh yes, now I understand._

But understanding doesn't mean I have any idea about what to say. "You're being serious."

"You said you wouldn't laugh," Atton says, his voice rising.

I don't know why he thinks I'm laughing at him, but then people often think that about me. "You are being serious." I suppose I could tell him about the rumours, of how the General was supposed to have seduced Revan and Malak, and betrayed us all to the Mandalorians. But it was those same rumours that Revan used those before to convince me to betray the General. I failed her that one time, and I will never do so again.

"Atton, she was a general," I say, thankful for once that people find my emotions almost impossible to read. Sometimes, it feels like my circuitry is just a little different from those of others, so that we can never really become part of the same system. "I was just a tech. Your guess is about as good as mine."

"Well, what's your guess then?" Atton presses.

"I'm getting back to work." Somehow, in defying Atton's simple request, I feel that I'm finally serving the General like I should have done at Malachor. It's a small thing, a step in a journey that will take the rest of my life. But it feels right.

I try to stand up, but then I lose my balance and tumble back into the seat. The whole situation of Atton asking me for love advice and my own drunken state is so ridiculous that I can't help laughing. _The Dantooine Flash Fire is stronger than I expected_.

"Hey! I'm being serious here." Atton says, his face red and his voice rising. Perhaps he would have said something more, but Cee whistles to let me know that another person is approaching. Atton mistakes its sounds for something else.

"You're laughing at me? I'll put you on the scrap heap, you walking tin can!" But then Atton hears the footsteps too, and he shoots out of his chair and stalks down the corridor, brushing past the approaching Kreia.

Kreia's head turns to track Atton's departure, and I swear the corners of her mouth turn up for a moment. But it's so hard to tell, for her face is almost completely turned away from me.

After a few moments, she leaves and I pour myself another glass. _Kreia's just smiled, Atton's asking me for advice… seems as good a time as any to just have some fun._

I'm just about to down the glass when I hear the General's voice behind me. "Is that Dantooine Flash Fire?" she asks, her voice surprisingly eager.

I nod and I'm surprised when my head goes too far, almost bumping into my chest. "Yep, and it's good stuff too."

"Mal—," and then she grimaces. "Someone told me once that if I was ever going to drink, this was the stuff to try." _Does she really think I don't know about Malak? Everyone in the fleet talked about Revan, Malak and her._

The General sighs before she continues. "I didn't listen to him then and when I did finally drink, it was some Mandalorian swill that tasted terrible and… well, made me stupid."

"I hear that stuff's quite powerful," I say, sweeping my hand grandly towards the chair Atton had only recently left. As she sits down, I pour her a glass and hand it to her.

"It was," she says, her eyes far away. There's a soft shine there in her eyes, the kind I don't find even in the most beautiful shields. I wish I could grab it, store away somewhere safe, but the pain in the General that always so close to the surface chases away the light, even as her hands comes up to her head and her eyes shut as if in pain.

"Are you alright?" I ask. I start to reach out towards her with my free hand, but then I see the glowing field that has replaced the sheared off flesh of my arm and I pull it back. Somehow, it just doesn't seem right to offer the comfort I want to give with this non-living part of me, and the symbol of my past treachery.

The Exile's face turns sad as she glances up at me from behind her hand, and then she surprises me by reaching out to touch me on the shoulder above my artificial arm. "Don't be ashamed of the wounds from that battle," she says softly. "You should be proud to have survived."

"And you?" Her face closes as I ask my question, and her shoulders slump for a moment before she straightens her back again. Then, somehow, she drags a small smile onto her face.

"I'm going to need a few more glasses of this before I'll believe my own words," she says, downing the shot right after she finishes.

As with Atton before, the drinking goes silent as we match each other glass for glass. Some part of me keeps expecting the potent drink to knock me out, but somehow I'm still alert, or at least as alert as I was when the General walked in.

The General on the other hand seems to relax more and more with each glass, until she stops me from pouring her sixth shot. "Thank you," she says, her words slightly slurred, "but if I drink anymore, I might do something stupid. Like—" and then she stops, sighing.

"Like what?"

"Like ask you for some help with a little problem I'm having," she says, and then covers her mouth, her face going red.

The General's often unpredictable in her temperament, even after the breakthrough at Atris' Academy. She's often quiet, and there are times when she cries without even knowing she does so. Other times, she gets so angry that the rest of us look for places to hide. And then there are the moments when her eyes are filled with the dark emptiness of space.

But most of the time, I can tell that she's looking out for us. Not that there's much she can do. Like the General, Atton, Kreia, and I like to handle our own problems, and I suspect the Miraluka and the Disciple are the same too. But Xi Lan's always preparing a warm meal, engaging us in a small conversation when the pain gets a little stronger, always following us with a concerned gaze when she thinks we're looking the other way. Even Kreia.

_It would be nice to do something for her for a change, especially since repairing the Miraluka's lightsabre is taking much longer than I thought. _

"Please let me help, General," I say, wishing I could sound more sincere. Somehow, my voice always comes out in the same lilting way that has always set me apart from other Iridonians.

"No, I… I can't. It wouldn't be fair." Her eyes are downcast, and her face even more red than before. I've never seen her like this.

"General…" I feel like a fool, but I don't know what else to say.

The General sits there, fiddling with her braid for a while and keeping her eyes away from mine while I wait. Finally, after what seems like forever, she nods to herself and gets up. I expect her to walk out the door but, to my amazement, she grabs my left hand without hesitation and pulls me out of the cockpit, through the ship, and out into the night.

I'm half dazzled by the fact that she treats my replacement arm as if it was real, but I'm not so lost that I miss Atton as he watches us from the shadows underneath the ship. The look in his eyes is furious as the Exile and I walk into the nearby wooded area.

I'm not sure how long we walk under the dark canopy before the General stops in a small meadow. The open area is lit by the silvery light of the moon, the trees like a fence keeping out the darkness beyond, which seems to grow thicker every moment we stand apart from it.

It's so beautiful, quiet, like the bowels of a ship whose workings are tantalizing, partially revealed when I open my workman's lamp, even as other parts disappear in the shadows my light creates. It's like the ship, and now this meadow, taunt and seduce me in the same breath. "You will search for my secrets," I can hear them say, "and love me for what you discover. But you will never truly know me."

As my eyes finally find the General again, I realize that's how I feel about her too. The mysteries within her, dark and light, the many faces she reveals and the true heart that eludes the eye, the leader who is re-emerging and the vulnerable woman before me now, they draw this willing servant.

The General has one knee on the ground and is running her opened hands along the grass and flowers of the meadow floor. She has loosened her hair and it spills down both sides of her bowed head, like the optical fibre lines of a shield cable unwound, but dark instead of light. When I sit down beside her I see that her are closed and her lips are slightly parted. More mysteriously, circling around her are little translucent stars that seem to sway to a rhythm I can't sense, and the rings in her nose, the necklaces seem to brighten and dim, like reflections of these lights around her, seen in the shimmering sides of a drop of Ulan-mercury.

It's too overwhelming, too beautiful and too frightening, and I shake my head to dispel the illusion, afraid that I will be lost if I can not reconnect to the thoughts and designs that are my constant companions. But when I stop, the illusion is still there, and now it reaches out for me, following the movements of her hands.

"Are you okay, Bao-Dur?" the General asks, her hand reaching out to touch my shoulder, a slight slur to her words.

_It's the Dantooine Flash Fire that's doing this to me_, I realize, and with that thought the weave of lights before me dulls, then disappears. I let loose a deep breath, relieved even as another, younger, part of me whispers, "No."

"I'm okay," I say when the alcohol's illusions are finally dispelled. "Please don't worry about me, General," I continue, gently taking her hand off my shoulder. "I guess I'm not used to drinking and its effects."

"Me, neither," she chuckles half-heartedly. Then her voice and eyes fill with wonder as she looks away from me and back at the glade. "It's so beautiful here."

I barely hear her words, for the loss I feel when her eyes leave mine surprises me. "Yes," I croak, pushing the words out before she might wonder about my silence and turn those eyes back towards me. "The light here is almost like the reflections of Naboo space steel."

This time her laughter is less strained. "I guess you always think in terms of metals, machinery, and circuits."

"It's how I see things," I shrug as she turns her eyes towards me again, hoping that the heat in my face is not visible in the moonlight.

"I guess I'm not that different." As she continues, her hands once again reach down toward the ground. "I used to think always in patterns, which I suppose is the same as your circuits and machinery. Every night, before the war, I used to find a quiet place like this so that I could touch the webs of life. After the war started, I didn't have the time or the energy. Now," she continues, her words sad, "I don't really remember how. All I feel is the grass."

"And how does it feel?" I don't know where that question comes from, it slips out from some hidden part of me that wants… something more.

She doesn't say anything, but I sense that she focuses more on her hands for a moment as they continue skimming along the top of the grass. "Beautiful," she whispers finally.

"Then isn't that enough?" Again, I can't explain where the thought comes from; I almost feel like something else has slipped inside of me to ask these questions. It doesn't matter though, because the smile the General gives me warms parts of me I thought would always remain cold.

I don't know I've been smiling back at her until her grin finally fades. "Thank you," she says, pulling me into a hug.

Everything about this night is so strange, and some distant part of me is wondering how much of it I can really attribute to Dantooine Flash Fire, even as my body wraps its arms around the General and pull her close.

I never expected to have any kind of interaction like this with the General. I'm her tech, the button that she pushes to make things go, the tool she uses to repair what is broken. This night doesn't fit that, and I can't imagine any new configuration that does save… but that can't be possible.

_It must be the alcohol. She'll wake up and regret this, maybe ask me to leave the ship. I can't let that happen._

"General," I say, pushing her gently away from me. The disappointment I see in her face, it must be the Dantooine Flash Fire. "We need to get back to the ship. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

I can see her eyes change as I speak, becoming more distant, impersonal. Sighing when I finish, the General nods, then pushes herself hard off the ground. I guess the Dantooine Flash Fire is still affecting her, though, for she stumbles as she stands, and then falls towards me. I scramble to catch her, but I'm still a bit unsteady too, and she tumbles on top of me as we both hit the ground.

It takes me a moment to gather myself, and then my face burns red as I realize that my flesh hand is inadvertently cupping one of the General's breasts. Even worse, my thumb seems to be moving on its own, rubbing the nipple that's growing, pushing into my palm as the General sighs softly.

Pulling my hand back as quickly as I can, I scramble out from under her, tossing her into a heap to my left in my haste. Mortified, I try to apologize, but the words stutter in my throat and then the General bursts into laughter.

I don't know what to feel as she continues to howl on the ground, tears starting to run down her face. I seem to be feeling it all, embarrassment, annoyance that she finds this funny, and lust from the feeling of her breast in my hand, which refused to go away.

Finally, she stops, pushing herself off the ground to a sitting position and brushing her pants off. To my surprise, she seems embarrassed too, for she keeps her eyes down and her face seems a little darker than before. "I'm sorry," she says finally, "I think it's the Dantooine Flash Fire…"

I nod, afraid to speak.

We sit there in silence for a long time, until finally the General speaks again. "Bao-Dur, I want to ask you two very personal questions. Please don't answer it if you don't want to."

I want to say, "No," but I can't; she's my General. "Okay."

"Do you have a lover or a wife?"

"No," I say, my face burning.

"Have you… frack, I must be drunk, I shouldn't ask this…"

"Please, General, it's okay."

The General looks around the glade, and I take the moment to look at her. "It's so beautiful here," she continues, echoing my thoughts. "I don't want to leave yet, Bao-Dur. I feel so wonderful right now and I don't want to lose that feeling. I want more of it."

She turns her gaze back towards me, and the raw need, and sadness, in her eyes strikes at the core of me, pulls me out of the calm I've been trying to enforce on my emotions. "I… can't love anyone, Bao-Dur. I can't. I won't ever let that happen to me again, it hurts too much. But I need… I want to…" She stops, and tears tumble from her eyes.

I'm so scared by all that is happening; it's so far beyond the simple routines and structure that I impose on my life. But I have sworn myself to the General's service, and I can't let her down now. I reach out, and pull her towards me, hoping that this is what she needs, knowing too that it will not be enough.

Her arms squeeze me hard, briefly, but then they drift and her hands start to run themselves along my chest. It doesn't matter that I knew this would happen. Against my will, I growl, aroused even as my arms tense, caught between ripping her shirt and pushing her away.

Her hands stop, her body starts to push away, just a little. "I'm so sorry," she whispers, her moist breath tickling my ear. "This is not fair—"

For a moment, my thoughts become stunningly clear, as if something or someone has ripped away all the muddled thoughts and emotions. I don't know if the General is someone I can love; I've never really thought of her as anything but the woman I betrayed back at Malachor V, and the leader I must serve. But our bodies call to each other now, longing to awaken pleasure and chase away the ghosts that we both carry, if only for a short while.

Whatever pain I might feel later, when we go back to our old roles, I can carry it.

"Come here," I say, surprised that my voice is so clear, commanding, but then my thoughts melt like Rodian plaxi-glue as the General pushes me to the ground and pulls my arms—light and flesh—to her body.

----------------------------

**Toxel, approaching Dantooine**

I let the images and feelings slip out of my mind, for I don't need to know what happens next. The room to which my consciousness returns is dark, and lonely, but I am untouched, my soul lit by the gift that the Zabrak and my mother gave to each other.

I don't know yet if Bao-Dur and my mother became lovers or whether the night was just something shared between two lonely, wounded companions. And I don't know how Atton will react when Bao-Dur and my mother return to the ship. It doesn't matter now, though, because I'm going to let myself bask in the beauty they shared.

Unfortunately, it only lasts a short while, until I remember Atris.

I don't have to reach out to feel her in the cockpit, though it's still her shield that I sense, rather than the person. To my surprise, I sense more life beyond her, and stretching out, I discover that we are approaching Dantooine. Judging from the distance, it will take us a few hours more to land at the space port nearest to the former Jedi Academy.

_And then, I _will_ talk to you, Atris, whether you want it or not. I will not let you leave me until we at least do that. _

The determination that I feel, though, can't mask the despair underneath. Getting up, I start packing up the supplies I will need for walking to the former Jedi Academy. _I wish I knew what I could do to make this pain between us go away._ _I certainly know making love isn't what Atris needs, not given her history. I just wish I knew what else I could do._

The ship's engines change sound as I finish packing, indicating that we are approaching the atmosphere, and I turn my attention towards preparing what I will say to Atris. I still haven't found the right words when the ship settles on the landing strip.


	9. Chapter 9

**PATTERNS OF BETRAYAL AND REDEMPTION III **

**Chapter 9**

----------------------------

**A/N: **

- Many thanks as always to my beta Trillian!

- Slow, but still moving. Apologies to those who haven't already forgotten about this story.

----------------------------

**Toxel (Dantooine)**

The landing ramp is already open when I leave my room, and Atris, marked by the thick snowstorm of her psychic shields is already outside. I half run down the ramp, my heart beating at double speed as I try to muster up the arguments to stop Atris from fleeing. The words die in my mouth before they can form; Atris is standing a few steps away, not hurrying away with bags packed as I had anticipated.

"Here we are, Toxel. Where do we need to go?" my Echani mentor says, her voice no more cool or reserved than normal. It was as if she had not spent the last days ignoring me, as if our kiss had never happened.

I don't know what to say, though the answer should be obvious. I know that we have to go to the old Jedi Academy that once existed near here, and search in my mother's old rooms. But that knowledge is buried by my apprehension and by the mystery of Atris' reactions.

_How can she act as if nothing has happened? How can she be so calm? _And yet, though her manner seems to deny that anything is wrong, I realize that she is turned mostly away from me, that though her face is composed, her eyes seem too fixated on the landscape in front of us.

If there's anything that I've learned about Atris, it's that she likes to look me and others in the eyes.

Atris sighs and I realize that my barriers are down and my thoughts are likely leaking into the nearby area. "Tell me where we're going," she repeats.

I don't answer her at first, my concentration devoted towards putting up a light shield to contain my thoughts from inadvertent spying. It's not that strong, surely not enough to frustrate a determined intruder, but I want to stop any unintentional leaks. Still, a great sadness wells up from the hole in my chest that started to grow when Atris shut me out. It feels like I'm cutting my ties with her, just as she has cut hers with me. Soon, all that will be left will be two shimmering walls, the land barren between them like an old battleground.

Atris shows no signs of impatience while I construct my barrier and then settle my bag on my shoulder. "The old Academy," I say when I'm done and she sets off before I can point the direction.

Her stride is confident, and from the way she navigates the different paths it's clear that she knows the area quite well. _She studied here, _I remember. _This is where she came to know my Revan, Malak, and my mother. Of course she knows the way._

But as we progress, she hesitates several times, looking around as if to get her bearings. And there's a lost look that seems to grow in her eyes. _And that feeling must be stronger than those she feels about me if she's letting it show on her face. _The bitter feeling of that thought surprises me with its strength, erasing in an instant the shine of the sun off the nearby river, the song of the birds that play in the trees around us, and the tantalizing, muted shape of Atris' hips in her loose shirt and pants.

"It's so different," she whispers softly—to herself I think for there is no sign in her that she remembers I am there. "Malak must have bombed the whole area around the Academy to have changed the landscape so…"

I'm waiting for her to say more, but then I see something familiar on my left. It's a small bent tree that hangs precariously on to the steep slope. Its trunk is bent every which way, as if it's constantly twisting and turning towards the sun even as its bottom tumbles slowly, but inevitably down the hill.

Suddenly this enforced normalcy between Atris and I can not hold me anymore. I don't care if being angry will push her farther away. Any hope I have seems as precarious as the tree on the slope, and far less beautiful. The churning confusion eating away at my gut finds itself suddenly pushed into my legs, its constant, unstoppable momentum pushing me forward relentless. Jogging towards where I now know the Jedi compound to be, I don't look back to see if Atris is following, mercilessly stilling my senses before they can check.

It's only when I stand at the doorway to the almost destroyed student dormitories that my traitorous heart turns my eyes back in a hurried glance, then shatters when I realize that I now walk alone. The youth in me wants to collapse and wail, or to run back to Atris to beg forgiveness for my retreat but I resist, drawing upon the memories of my mother and her perseverance in the face of the harshest betrayal. _If my mother can keep going despite the perfidy of her two best friends and lovers, then how can I do less when her existence may be at stake?_ _How can my young feelings for Atris,__stand before that and call themselves significant?_

But saying that I will be strong, and actually doing so are quite different indeed. My feet refuse at first to move towards the dark corridors within the Academy, my head rebels and turns back once more to look for the one I would love. But she is still not there, and the thought of waiting for her, unsure of whether she will come, is too painful to bear.

_I need to be doing something._

The dark inside the Academy is comforting and surprisingly it is not difficult to make my way through the wreckage of the academy. I guess I've travelled the hallways too often in my mind for the scattered stone, fallen beams and broken walls to lead me astray.

The last hallway, where my mother had lived, is especially dark. It is the one closest to the now collapsed back entrance, through which she had slipped every night to practice her Gliding Hand meditations. For a second, as I walk the corridor, I can almost see her shadow ahead of me, slipping quietly away, the only mark of her passage the shadows of her feet in the beams of light that steal beneath the closed doors of her studying peers.

The door to her room is closed. Mysteriously, it is the only one intact in this section, so I bend forward to inspect it. As I suspected, it lacks much of the dust and the other signs of long neglect that the rest of the compound is steeped in. New hinges attach it to the wall, and there is a fine mesh of some dull, almost invisible material across the front. Somehow, I know that this mesh is much stronger than it looks; this door will not be opened by brute force.

I push on the door, knowing even before I feel the resistance that it will not open. _I sense no life inside, so it must be some kind of clue, right? _It feels weird, as if I'm living in one of those holovids Bastila used to let me watch at night. But this time, the stakes are very real.

My palms are sweaty as I look for a keyhole, or some other way of opening the door. I wonder if it will resist my efforts to open it, like the shield on Telos, but then I find a small, rough, irregular opening whose shape teases my mind with its familiarity. I've been walking through these halls without a light, because my borrowed knowledge of their twists and turns has not required one. I turn the one in my hand on now, to see this shape in more detail. The indentation has a point to it at one end, and is roughly circular at the other. The sides are somewhat irregular, and there are many flat planes inside. It looks like, I realize, the shape of some kind of crystal, and once I understand that, the answer is easy to find.

I pull out my main lightsabre, the one that Revan gave me, and light it. The blade, as always, bursts eagerly outwards, only barely restraining itself into the bar of almost blinding light that so recently took its first lives on Telos. The power I sense within it is so much more than when the blade graced the hands of my mother. I still wonder about that.

Revan says that the crystal within it is bonded to me, and it is true that there is something about it that infuses the lightsabre with a familiarity that I can't otherwise explain. Neither blade of my mother's has ever left my side since Revan passed them on to me, but it's in this one that I somehow feel more connected to Xi Lan.

_So much that I don't know and don't understand. I'm not sure if I'm made for all this. If only I had Revan's mind… but then if I did would I be on this fool's quest to rescue a woman long dead?_ Sighing, I turn off the blade and then open up the hilt. The crystal seems to almost leap into my hand as I draw it out. Turning it around in the light, I discover the pattern there that seems to match the one engraved into the door. When I insert the crystal, I hear a click and then a subtle sound, like something of energy is being switched off. A moment later, the door opens.

I half expect the room to be immaculate, somehow preserved despite the wreckage of the rest of the Academy. The reality meets my expectations only halfway. It is clear that someone has tidied up the room, but many years ago. The rubble littering the rest of the complex is not here, but the dust is thick on the floors and the air is stale. Looking around, I discover that the room is empty, barren, like the hole of doubt and uncertainty I've got growing in my chest. My journey, so promising at its beginning, is quickly losing its allure. The hope that drove me to leave everything, it has failed to breach the shields around Telos, failed to sort out this unexpected mess with Atris, and not it has failed in something so simple as a single room. And now it has yielded nothing but the mystery of who decided to clean my mother's room and then leave it empty behind such a strongly locked door.

_The door._ I turn towards it, and in the middle of it something glimmers in the flashlight I carry in my left hand. Moving forward, I see a small niche inside the door, and within that niche there is something white. Pulling it out, something falls to the ground. Picking it up, I see that it's a bottle opener that feels a lot like Atton. As for the white cloth, it's the Handmaiden's touch that I detect on it.

I know the natural thing to do now would be to either explore the ruins more or to take the new findings back to the ship to delve into the stories within them. But the ruins hold no more interest to me, and leaving the compound means facing again what hangs between Atris and I. Besides, I'm finding it hard to muster up any enthusiasm right now. So many mysteries and all I seem to be finding are little pieces of what went before my mother's death. It's a story I want to tell, of course, but more than that I want to know where she is now, and whether she's alive.

I can't give up, though. I've been taught to well to do that. Bastila and Revan have always taught me to persevere, and my mother's life has shown me that much worse can be overcome. _Then again, she died… No, she was killed, and only because she let Revan live. So even though she had fallen, she was still enough herself not kill him… it's so strange!_

I must find the answers; my mother is owed that. If she truly is dead, the least I can do is make sure that her story is told.

I pull out my water bottle, take a sip, and then settle down in the corner with the bottle opener, putting it against my heart until the images and impressions within fill my head and I find myself sitting beside Bao-Dur on the _Ebon Hawk_.

----------------------------

**Atton (the _Ebon Hawk_ on the way to Nar Shaddaa)**

I take a swig of the flash fire in my glass, letting it sit on my tongue as I think. I still can't believe I'm drinking again with the Iridonian.

_Of course, the two bottles of Dantooine's finest Flash Fire in his hands might have influenced my decision. That, and saving my life._

I glance over at the Zabrak. His face is coloured blue by the light of his glowing arm and his eyes are staring out the front viewport of the cockpit. It's hard to believe that someone so quiet and mild is the same person who drove his fist straight through Azkul's neck just before that Kreia-wannabe was going to gut me.

The Exile surprised me on Dantooine too.

"You know," I say to the Zabrak, "the only thing that's keeping me on this ship is remembering Vrook's face when our fearless leader told him she'd rather bathe in bantha poodoo before accepting any training of his."

"I think any who served in the war would have liked that," Bao-Dur lilting voice chips in. I gratefully accept the newly-filled glass that he hands me.

Sipping my drink, I replay the scene we're talking about in my mind, especially those last few moments where Vrook's face went all red. That and his eyes bulging open and his mouth flapping soundlessly like a fish out of water, those images are going to keep me warm for many nights to come. Or at least until something softer and prettier comes along.

I still can't believe that the mechanic sunk his torpedo into the Exile's bay before me, but I have to admit that he makes a good drinking partner: keeping the booze flowing and focusing his eyes somewhere in the distance so that the conversation is free and easy.

"That smug old fossil sure got angry," I say to Bao-Dur, moving my attention back to more pleasant thoughts. "Jedi Code, my eye. That gizka probably thought all that blood about to explode in his head was the 'Force.' That kind of hiding from the truth must come easily for someone who thinks he's right all the time." I drain my glass, and let out a deep sigh of contentment that is more genuine than any in the last week. "I'm still not sure what's worse, a drunk Gamorrean or a lecture from a Jedi."

"Gamorrean," the Iridonian says quietly as he leans over and fills my glass with that glowing arm of his. I still don't know how that damn thing works, but I bet he could show a Jedi a thing or two about improving those damned light sticks of theirs. _If there are any Jedi left to show, that is._

"Jedi. The Gamorreans are easy to get rid of; just point at some poor schmuck and say 'he's got the Bontha lard.' Once a Jedi crawls up your exhaust, only a total fuel dump will get them out."

The Iridonian chuckles and sips on his glass. "He's the first Jedi I've ever seen at a loss for words. Still, I can't help wondering if the General should have accepted his offer…"

"Are you questioning our fearless leader?" I say, mocking shock and opening my eyes as wide as I can. _Well, well, the tech's doubting his 'General.' There's nothing like some alcohol to loosen things up in the skull. I wonder if I should slip something in Blondie's morning kaffa? That could be good for a laugh or two._

But as pleasant as images of a weaving, dishevelled Disciple are, I find myself in the strange situation of defending the Exile from her most devoted tech and follower. "I'm not sure that bastard had anything to teach her. Anyone who's that full of himself doesn't have room in his skull for anything useful."

"But why can't she fight better?" the Zabrak says.

"She's gotten a lot better—" I start to say, but something's pouring out of the Zabrak, as if the Flash Fire has opened up some dam inside of him.

"During the war, we all used to talk about her, almost as much as Revan and Malak. No one was better at fighting except for Malak; that's what everyone said. And she _trained_ the Jedi, and provided new drills that made the regulars better too. I remember some of those exercises, and they really did help! But now, she's…" The Zabrak's voice trails off, and his shoulders slump.

I'm not sure why the Zabrak looks so defeated. Sure, the Exile isn't the fighter she was supposed to be, but she's not that bad. "Normal, you mean? Making mistakes, getting injured, bleeding like the rest of us? You know what? That's okay by me, buddy. I've seen all those other Jedi. All of them, every single one I've…" _Killed. Turned._ Memories of my past life have been coming back more frequently recently, and I'm not sure why. "Well, the ones I've seen over the years, they never stop talking, not matter what's going on. Even when they're dying… on the field, they just keep yapping away. And they don't listen and they don't know what it's like to be… dirty and hurting and lost. They—"

"So you _were_ in the war," Bao-Dur breathes, his eyes now focused, pinning me with surprising intensity and I'm thankful. They bring me back, stop the onrush of words, of feelings best forgotten.

"Yeah, I was there and—" The Zabrak glances quickly downwards and I realize that my glass is close to breaking in my clenched hands. It takes all I have to paste a half-smile on my face and loosen my fingers. "Look, that was I long time ago, you know what I mean?"

Bao-Dur nods as his eyes soften, and then without thought we clink our glasses and down them. After a long moment during which we both let the liquor swirl in our mouths, Bao-Dur pours. I should just let the silence grow, but I find I'm not as ready to stop as I should be. "All that talking never did them Jedi any good, though. I guess in the end they kept flapping away because they didn't know how to do anything else. As for your 'General,' I can see why she almost failed that Jedi history course." I pause for effect, and then let my voice linger on each word as I continue." She may be a schutta with no taste for men, but she couldn't speak that 'in touch with the Force' crap even if she tried."

The sound that bursts out of Bao-Dur shocks me. I scowl as I try to wipe the hot liquid I've just spilt on the front of my favourite, and only jacket, realizing finally that the alien is laughing. But his laughter doesn't last, and I can feel his eyes on me as I continue my token efforts to erase another tribute to good and hard times.

"I'm sorry, Atton," Bao-Dur says when I finally look up again. I've never seen the Zabrak talk this much, or laugh, and I'm wondering whether it's the booze or the woman that have opened up this side of him. His eyes are piercing, searching now, another sign that the mellow voice and expression hide a surprising intensity. "It meant nothing, you know. The General just needed some… comfort."

"Yeah, I bet. And I guess you just hugged 'the General', and then 'held her close until the sun came up.' Look, I may not have your smarts but I know the walk of a man who's just… what would you say? 'Released some excess charge in your capacitor?'"

Bao-Dur pauses, looks startled for a moment, but then the earnest expression returns. "It was a one time thing. She just wanted something simple—"

"I can do simple." I push down the blood that threatens to rush to my head when I realize how hurt my voice sounds. A half smile slips onto my face easier than habit. "And make a woman give up wanting anything more."

"I'm sure you can, but…" The Zabrak stops for a moment, his eye ridges coming together. I can almost see the gears turning. "Maybe that's why she chose me."

"What?" _The Flash Fire must be getting to the man._

"How would you have felt if she didn't want more, Atton? What would have happened if she walked away the next morning, as she did for me, unchanged? If she had treated you exactly the same as before?"

I'm trying to tell if the Zabrak's voice is sad, but it's so hard to read him. He always seems to speak the same way, almost as if he's singing or reading poetry.

I can't help wondering for a moment if Xi Lan heard a different voice.

"You would have wanted more, Atton," Bao-Dur starts again, pulling me out of the difficult images starting to form in my mind.

"And you don't?" I scoff. "Or were you just doing your duty for 'the General?'"

Bao-Dur absently scratches one of his horns as his eyes drift towards the streaks of starlight passing our ship outside. Finally, he sighs and puts his drink to his lips. "I don't know."

I'm not sure which question he's answering, but it doesn't matter. There are several important senses that any good drinker has to have. One of them tells you when it's time to stop talking and finish the bottle.

----------------------------

**Atton (the _Ebon Hawk_, Nar Shaddaa—one week later)**

We've spent a tiring two days looking for the Jedi Master already, and we haven't seen or heard anything about him. Now we're all sitting around on our asses in cheap chairs trying to get clever about speeding this little quest up. Except Kreia, of course. The old bat keeps saying that it's the journey that matters or something like that.

_Frackin' Jedi. If they had their way, we'd all be walking around all the time with our heads in the clouds while someone's helping themselves to our wallet._

Still, it's not an easy problem to solve. Even when you have two Sith on your side, no one's easy to find on Nar Shaddaa.

Kreia and Visas haven't found any trace of Zezzer-whatever, and Xi Lan's pretty much useless for all that she's the closest thing to a Jedi in our crew.

_Frack. Three Force-using women, two of them blind Sith and one a Jedi who can barely use the Force. Who'd I piss on to get in this situation?_

Looking around the table, it seems that everyone is about ready to give up. Xi Lan is fiddling with one of the rings hanging on a chain around her neck. Beside her, Bao-Dur looks a million light years away. _Probably thinking about some new way to configure that floating ball of his. _

Kreia left twenty minutes ago muttering about "trusting the Force" and the droid is whirring around in one of the other rooms, up to what I don't know. Blondie's staring at the galactic star map, looking all thoughtful like he always does, and the frigid ice-queen sitting beside him has been eyeing the Miraluka since the blind Sith beat her to the seat beside Xi Lan.

As for Visas, she's still quietly studying her fingers but since the Sith is blind, my guess is that she's really watching the Exile. I don't know why the blind Sith always has to be so close to the Exile or how she always manages beat everyone else there. She's always just around, right beside, like… _like a shadow_.

_Frack, now I'm getting poetic. Why, oh why didn't I take that smuggling job instead of trying to "save the Jedi?" What a frackin' crew of misfits I've got myself tied up with._

"So," I had said, my mouth running ahead of my brain as it always does, "since we can't find Baldy Master, we need to make him want to find us." I guess it's a good idea, because everyone in the room perks up.

"How would you do that?" Blondie asks, his eyes all shining blue in the light of the rotating map.

"I… well, what gets a Jedi's attention?" _I'm not even sure where the idea came from, but I won't tell you that_.

"With the amount of noise on this planet," Bao-Dur says softly, his flesh hand scratching his chin, "the signal would have to quite large to be registered."

_Trust the Zabrak to think it through as electronics_.

"The Jedi is hiding from my Master's gaze," the Miraluka says. Her voice still surprises me every time I hear it: sultry, with a little burr that slides down my chest like a wet tongue.

_Now why am I not getting some of that? The Sith's body is just made for scouting and I haven't gone dry this long since I was sixteen. _

An image suddenly fills my mind. I'm in the pilot's chair and the Miraluka's sweaty, soft body is sliding against my chest and legs, my fuel rod sinking into her slippery ion engine. Suddenly the image shatters, and I feel her sightless gaze fix upon me. As I meet her gaze, a small smile forms.

_Is she laughing at me or flirting with me?_ _Sith's hairy balls! Why couldn't we have a nice, simple Twi'lek girl on our crew?_

"It is the Force that he fears," Visas says, "that he watches with wide open eyes of the hunted. It is there that we must write our message."

"Yeah, right. And what does that mean for thus of us who don't know Jedi speak?" I drawl.

"I think I know what you mean," the Disciple says, nodding to the Miraluka even though she keeps her eyes on me. _Sith schutta__probably saw Blondie's nod anyway_. "We need to use the Force strongly and often for the same purpose, so that each one builds on the next one until we're heard. And—"

"What," I say, "you mean do all sorts of goody-Jedi skrag?"

"Make the Force ring with our passion and strength," the Miraluka whispers.

"Yeah, whatever. And who's going to do all this?"

"The Exile," a cracked voice says from behind me and I whip around to find that the old bat has somehow snuck up behind me. _How does she keep doing that?_

The Exile had continued playing with the ring on her chain as we've been speaking, but now her eyes snap up. "No," she says, her voice hard as steel, "let someone else do it."

"No, the old one is right," Visas says, her head now turned towards Xi Lan. "She and I carry too much darkness. The Jedi will not approach us."

"And he may recognize you, Exile," Kreia says. Her gaze is now locked the Exile, as if she seeks to add her efforts to that of the Miraluka, both pinning our leader with their blind gaze.

The room is silent, and one-by-one the others' gazes also move to Exile and I can feel the weight build on her, bit by bit, until I wonder how she can stay silent. And yet, the only evidence the red in her cheeks the only evidence that she knows we are waiting for her response.

"I'm not a Jedi," she says finally, her voice almost lost in the humming of the lights. I can hear the defeat in her voice, and I know that the battle is almost won.

The funny thing is, I'm not sure how the rest of us so quickly decided that this was the thing that needed to be done. I'm not sleepy yet, which means that we haven't flapped our gums nearly as much as we usually do. And yet, my instincts tell me that it is the right approach. Even worse, it's clear that even Blondie and the stiff Echani agree with me.

But I'm not one to stay in ranks for long.

"You're right, you're not," I drawl and Xi Lan's eyes shoot up, her mouth forming an 'O.' "Frankly, oh fearless leader, you've finally convinced me." Holding up my fingers, I count them as I proceed. "You've certainly not peaceful enough and you've got more damned metal on you than a Mandalorian in full armour. There's that temper of yours too, which would put a Sith to shame and no Jedi would have let Horns here use her torpedo bay for target practice. So I don't know what the hell you are, but you're certainly no Jedi."

The words flowed out of me without conscious direction, and as I finish I'm wondering whether she's going to get angry or embarrassed because I've mentioned her little smuggling mission with Bao-Dur. At first, it's as if she's frozen, but then a big smile breaks out on her face, and frack if it doesn't make me feel all warm inside. Even worse, I find I'm smiling back and it takes everything I have to turn it into a respectable smirk.

I can see from her eyes that she hasn't missed my cover up, but all she says is "Thank you."

The pressure in the room starts to ease, and I can hear Blondie and Bao-Dur let out a long breath but then the Exile continues, looking back and forth at the others, her voice growing stern again. "And since I'm no Jedi, there's no way I'm doing it. I've got no power, I can't stand them, and I won't pretend to be one. Find another way."

"But—" Blondie says, but then Xi Lan stands up and walks quickly out of the room. A few seconds later, I hear the door of the starboard dormitory close.

"Well, that didn't go too well," Bao-Dur breathes after a few moments and the Last Handmaiden nods.

I feel someone's gaze upon me and instinctively I turn towards it, groaning inwardly when my eyes meet the dead white orbs of Kreia. "You are wrong, Iridonian, though I can not expect you to be otherwise. That went quite well, indeed." And then she turns and walks slowly towards her room. As I watch her departing back, I shiver. Though I can no longer see her face, I know she is smiling.

The Last Handmaiden gets up quietly and leaves towards the cargo bay without a backwards glance or word, and Bao-Dur quickly follows, heading towards the garage.

_Which just leaves Blondie and me. _

I'm just about to make my escape when Book Boy speaks. "Do you know why she hates the Jedi so much?" he asks, his face full of that oh-so-genuine-looking concern. _Either he's on spice half the time or this boy should have been a Jedi._

"Kreia?" I smirk. "I suppose it's because she's a Sith whose robes faded in the laundry."

The Disciple looks confused for a moment. "I meant the Exile."

No…," I say, biting my tongue when it wants to say more. The pain is worth it; the Disciple actually leans forward in anticipation of the words he thinks will follow. At last, when he finally gives up and leans back, I let myself continue. "But it's not a bad decision if you ask me."

"Oh? And why is that, Atton? Do you hate the Jedi too?"

I can't believe he's actually asking me. I think everyone else figures that out within a day. And yet, even though a part of me wants to dismiss him as naïve or stupid, I can't. I don't know what it is, for there's nothing obvious in his expression or his actions, but I can't help feeling that there's more to this guy than meets the eye. "The Jedi hid while the rest of the galaxy burned, and only came out when one of their own threatened to make them look bad."

"Revan."

"Yeah, Revan." I'm trying to stay casual, but the old anger flares up too easily and I can hear my voice getting sharper. I want to challenge him, shake him out of this naïve, nice-guy façade he's adopted. "I don't care what people say. The galaxy would have been a better place if he had won."

"Why do you say that?"

"What did the Republic or the galaxy gain from the Jedi winning? Look at it now. It's a mess and the Jedi don't have the power or the charisma to put it together. Only Revan had that, and now he's probably dead at their hands."

"Revan did kill many Jedi—"

"And how many of Revan's Sith did the Jedi kill? Were they really that bad when he was leading them? What did they do, except for the fact that they turned against your precious Jedi? And why was the Jedi Council so willing to fight Revan when after letting the Mandalorians burn so many worlds. Those walking tin cans certainly caused more damage than Revan ever did."

"I don't know…" To my surprise, the Disciple seems to be taking my words seriously, and that deflates the anger I feel, at least until he continues. "I have no answers for why the Jedi acted as they did, but they see things that we do not—"

"I'm not buying that, Blondie." I scoff. "If they could truly see into the future, then they would have known that their inaction would lead to their downfall. If you want my opinion, the Jedi just couldn't bear the thought that they were wrong, and they put all their efforts into stopping the only man who could save the galaxy rather than face that fact."

The Disciple shakes his head slowly, then sighs. "What about Visas and Kreia. And—"

"Those Sith? Ha," I snort, "Visas and Kreia can go jump out an airlock for all I care!"

"And the Exile?"

The look on the Disciple's face is even more earnest than usual, and I wonder what's going on in his mind underneath these questions. And how he's able to hide so much of himself from me. Normally, I'm pretty good at reading people. "You heard the lady," I drawl my words out. "She's not a Jedi. Besides, she fought in the war, unlike these coward Jedi Masters we're hunting."

"But she didn't fight with Revan against the Jedi."

"Why would she do that after what he did to her?" The Disciple, perks up, and I curse myself for forgetting that Revan's betrayal of the Exile was a secret few knew. "Besides," I continue quickly, hoping to distract him, "given what I saw when I first met her… I doubt the Exile could have."

"That's right," Blondie says, his brows coming together, "you've been with her the longest. What was she like when she first met you?"

"A frackin' mess." I'm tired of this conversation and I'm starting to make mistakes. But I realize I've learned one thing from it. Though I think it will be a lot easier to find Master Zai Kai or whatever his name is if Xi Lan plays the Jedi, there's no way I'm going to force her. I know what it's like to hate the Jedi, and I'm certainly not going to stop anyone else from doing so. _Unless, of course, they decide they want to kill _my_ Jedi, in which case my blasters will answer._ "Look, if she doesn't want to imitate a Jedi, she must have a good reason and I'm not going to argue with that. We'll find another way."

"Atton, you know it's the only way."

_You're probably right, but frack you anyway._ "No I don't. Look kiddo, if she doesn't want to do it, I'm with her. You don't like that, you can get off the ship right now." I stare at him, daring him to say something, but the Disciple keeps his yap shut. "Good. I'm going to get some shut-eye."

As I walk away from him, I find myself wondering whether I'm in the right place. _If our fearless leader isn't a Jedi, is she really the one I'm supposed to help out?_ It seems like a reasonable question, and yet the doubt refuses to stick. Despite everything, even her bad taste in men, I'm in for the whole journey. _There's just something about her, or this mission that we're on… somehow I know this is where I have to be. I just wish I knew why…_

----------------------------

**Toxel (Dantooine, Three Hours Later)**

I have to laugh as I put the bottle opener down. Atton's way of looking at life is refreshing after Revan, Bastila, and now Atris. Sure, he's largely self-centred and I'm not sure if it's particularly healthy, but... well, he seems to be honest to himself, or at least about his opinion about others. And despite his anger at my mother, there's a surprising fondness for her there too and an obvious willingness to defend her.

_Besides he's right. There is something about this whole mess, then and now, that's strange. There's… something hidden behind all of this._

Part of me desperately wants to follow Atton's memories further, but I'm tired, I don't have my datapad with me, and I want to know what happened to Atris. Putting the bottle I was holding in my bag along with the blaster, I head out of the room and towards the exit.

As I walk the ruined and abandoned corridors, I can't help wondering whether _The Sour Twi'lek_ will feel the same when I return to it. I can see it in my mind, a ship mercilessly empty of Atris' presence, the only evidence that she was ever there the hole in my heart her abandonment leaves. Somehow, I can't imagine her leaving a note, saying a goodbye, or doing anything else that would explain why. It would be… well too complicated.

By the time I approach the doorway out of the student complex, I've almost completely convinced myself that she has already left, and the despondency weighs down on like Hillogi alloy. The exit is just a few steps away, but all of a sudden I can't wait any longer. I stretch my senses out, as strong a probe as I've ever done, searching for her, for the whisper of her presence, some sign of the woman I'm sure is hiding behind impenetrable shields.

It's the only thing that saves me. Instead of a carefully concealed Atris, I find four stealthed assassins making their way along the corridor towards me, closer than I could ever imagined possible. They are but a step away from me when I light my blades, and a blade flies over my shoulder as I twist.

With a quick upwards flick, I slice through the wrist that held it. The black hooded man drops to his knee without a sound, but he's already reaching towards another weapon in his belt when he touches the ground. I move to finish him off, but the others are too fast, too close and quickly I'm back pedalling.

There's something about these shadowy figures, something horrible. I feel a pull on my mind, my heart, and I'm weakening even as the approaching men seem to grow larger, darker. _They're stealing my power_, I realize, _and feeding upon it_.

This all feels familiar, but I don't have time to analyze it. My four assailants, for the one I injured now holds a small sword in his remaining hand, work together as a well-honed team. They circle me like of Tatooine womp rats, darting in and out, each one trying to distract me so that one of the others can land a blow.

At the beginning, I can still fend them off easily, but they're too smart, too persistent to give me an opportunity to do anything but defend. And with each moment, I'm finding it harder to concentrate, harder to spin the blades around to meet the various blows.

_If this keeps up, all they have to do is wait for me to collapse and then finish me off._

The one on my left feints a blow to my leg and I overreact, losing my balance slightly. Quickly, the other three move in, each blade aimed at a different part of my body and I know I won't be able to block them all.

I don't have to.

The lightsabre in my right hand, the one with the special crystal, bursts into blinding light and for a moment my assailants cower, their calm and intent shattered. It doesn't take long for them to recover, no more than the duration of a thought, but it's all my blades need. They move, faster than instinct, almost as if they are driven by something other that what is inside of me. One darts to the left, impaling the nearest assassin through the throat even as the other slides along the flat edge of the vibrosword in front of me, avoiding the guard and slicing off the fingers gripping the blade.

The other two move in fast, trying to catch me before I can bring my blades back, but now it seems like they are the ones moving through mud, while I feel light, embraced by the mercurial dust devils that flit mercilessly about Tatooine. Again, driven by something beyond my instinct or thought, my body drops down, then surprises the assailants by moving forward. Just before their blades can connect, I twist so that the blades pass to either side of me. So sure are the assassins that their blades would connect that they don't notice my lightsabres until I carve through their legs.

After that, I feel something leave me, though I don't know from where it came or where it goes. I'm back in control, but the work has already been done. It takes only a few moments to subdue the one now missing his fingers, and then I use the hilts of my blades to knock them out.

Once I'm sure they are all unconscious, I check their wounds to see if they are cauterized. None of them are bleeding, so I guess at least a few of them will live… if I let them. I'm not sure I will.

It takes me about four minutes to tie the assassins up, and another two to test the knots again. Confident that my assailants will not escape them soon, I pull of the full head mask from the one I've chosen to question and then wake him up. There was something about the way he moved, and how the others seemed to follow him, though it was very subtle, that makes me think he's their leader.

He's blond and his eyes are a clear blue, though not nearly as piercing as Atris and her Echani Handmaidens. His face is in poor shape, its yellowish, unhealthy skin riddled with irregular pockmarks and hanging loosely on his skull as if was just draped there haphazardly. The expression on his face is slack, almost like that of a corpse.

I probe him with the Force, trying to find a way though the defences that surround his mind. He is not a Force user and the shields around his mind are weak. But as I decipher his thoughts, I find they are like the oily fish Bastila and I used to catch in the caves underneath her house: slippery and impossible to grasp unless you knew just the right trick.

I think the man senses my struggle in his mind, for he begins to smirk. But that smirk quickly fades, because I _do_ know the trick for catching those oily fish. Purposefully, I build upon my first vision, forcing the shape of those Tatooine fish upon them until they truly become like the ones Bastila and I hunted. Reaching out, I imagine that my power is like a hand, floating without movement in the stream of flowing fish, letting them slip by, lulling them into complacency until they treat me like a part of the landscape.

Distantly, my ears detect movement, the struggle of newly awakened foes likely struggling against their bonds. I have to hope that those ropes are tight enough to hold them, for I dare not stir now.

Finally, my instincts tell me that the thought I'm looking for is near. I don't move, waiting without movement until it slides along my motionless fingers. I hook my fingers ever so little, and then I pull, hooking it out of the water.

It's a park, in the middle of the day. The small green space, no more than twenty trees close together and a small fountain in their middle, is located amidst a much larger urban jungle whose towers fill the landscape as far as the eye can see. Above it all, lines beyond counting of personal floaters moving from place to place, the order of them so unnatural, speaking of rules strictly enforced.

_Coruscant. That's the only place it could be._

Across from me is a hooded figure, its figure draped in a long flowing robe that somehow hides its face despite the low light that should penetrate its shadows. The clothes and body are visible though, enough to show that the person is a woman of some sort, human or something close to it, and that the person is likely wealthy.

Even more instructive are the three figures it the distance. They wear a brightly coloured uniform. Though they are too far away for me to make out any other details clearly, the colours seem too bright that belongs to a household or private organization rather than some arm of the government. But there's something odd about them that I can't figure out. Either way, their presence speaks of the person's authority, status. Whoever the figure is, she is not alien to the Republic, and likely a figure of some great importance and respect.

"Slay this one first," the figure says, and in my mind, my assailant's mind, a picture of myself pieces itself from nothingness. "If you succeed, then I will tell you how you might complete your service."

The figure whose memories I plunder bows, his knee touching the ground and his gaze averted. When he looks up a few moments later, the brown figure is gone.

I want to search for more memories, but the fish are aware of me now, they avoid me, melting once more into thoughts impossible to decipher.

I open my eyes.

The four figures are awake, but luckily still bound, though I see one is close to freeing himself. I grab my lightsabre, ready to knock them out again, but then I sense some kind of signal pass between them and suddenly a black craving bursts in the chests of each. I back up, my psychic defences flaring, ready for an attack but it is not me that is hunted. The clothes of the four figures begin to shred, the pieces disappearing before they touch to ground, revealing the other three assassins to be an ashen-skinned Utapaun male, a black-haired human female and a Duros. Pulled by instinct, I lunge forward, grabbing the rapidly disintegrating belt of the leader, yanking the remaining half of it off his body before it's gone. The destruction continues unabated, the bodies flaring, and then imploding into Force-less gray ash.

Only after the bodies are gone do I realize the chance I took. _What if whatever destroyed them had caught me when I touched the belt?_ I suppose I should feel more shocked by it all, but I'm too intrigued by what the belt will reveal. _Still, I need to get out of here now, in the case that there are others also hunting me._

I use the Force to speed my run, and I follow a different path towards the ship than I took to reach the destroyed Academy. With each step, I wonder from where the blaster bolts will come, from which tree my next attacker will spring. There's a growing sense of danger everywhere, and I'm pretty sure it's not just my imagination. Somewhere, more hunters are stalking me.

When I arrive at the small space port. The ship seems safe, unoccupied when I arrive at the space port, but I scan it multiple times anyway, until I'm absolutely sure that no one dangerous is in the area or within it. _No one, not even Atris._ The twisting hollow in my gut reminds me of my mentor's abandonment, but I will it aside. I need to get off the planet and, I feel with both despair and a sick relief, I need to do it right now: Atris or not.

I jump up from my hiding spot, once again bolstering my speed with the Force, pushing the controller in my pocket that opens the landing bay door as I approach. I quickly slam the door behind me as I enter, and slap my hand on the button that locks it before pulling out my two lightsabres.

It takes me a few minutes to complete my search of the ship. Nothing. No threats and nothing left of Atris' possessions. As I feared, she has chosen to exit my life in cutting silence.

_Concentrate! Let's get out of here and into a hyperspace lane. Then I'll have time to think. _

The ship's engines take two minutes to warm up, and each second seems that passes seems to take an eternity. I keep expecting someone to leap out of the shadows, or over the wall. I expect a rush of foes, but the only thing that moves are the branches of the trees in the soft, warm wind I'm fleeing.

When the indicator on my panel finally lights up, I engage the throttle.

The ship darts upwards, and then, incredibly, slams to a halt about ten metres up. I'm look out the viewport, but all I see is the small settlement in the distance. It takes me much longer than it should to use the Force.

A blazing white figure stands at the entrance of the spaceport, the Force crackling and swirling around her like cold, howling winds of a Telosian artic typhoon. _Atris… what is she doing?_ Suddenly, the anger and frustration that I've been trying so poorly to control take over, and I push the throttle forward, increasing the power. I keep expecting her hold to break, the bitter satisfaction of my victory hovering just a moment away, waiting to fill me. But the stick hits its end, and the ship isn't budging.

_Where is she getting that power? I'm not__sure even Revan could hold a ship at full throttle in place. _

Looking more deeply at her with my senses, I see pulses of power traveling along small tendrils of the Force that seem to emerge out of nowhere to connect to my mentor. _Is she connected to the ones who attacked me? Do they lend her strength using techniques no Jedi knows?_

But even as I wonder, I see that her presence in the Force is fraying, starting to come undone. The storm of power that she controls is moving inwards, starting to consume the focus at its center. The borrowed power is not enough, and now Atris feeds on her very essence. _If she keeps this up_, I realize, _she will be undone, become an echo, no more than a whisper on the Force._

I keep expecting her to let go, but the shrinking remains of her energies hold on even as they disappear, painfully slowly, undeniably.

_Why is she risking death to hold me here? _Suddenly, I wonder where she disappeared to when I entered the ruin, where she's been all this time. _Was she expecting me to be dead; is that why she took her stuff from the ship?_ _Is… is she working for them? She did turn once…_

I have to decide now, for the blizzard has almost taken over, and it's finally starting to lose some of its strength, though none of its persistence. Hoping I won't regret it, I reduce power and set the ship to hover, wondering what Atris will do.

What she does is collapse, the searing light snuffed like a flame, leaving only a dull ember that seems to begrudge its continued existence, that might extinguish in a moment's time. It's as if victory was pyrrhic, as if in winning the battle she gave up.

I don't know what I did after that, don't know how long it took me to reach her side; the only thing I know is that, suddenly, her head is my lap, her body stretched along the ground, and my hands are on her temple, seeking the source of whatever has disabled her, whatever she broke or injured in her incredible feat of arresting the determined flight of a star ship.

I can't find it; she's fading away and I can't seem to do anything about it.

Then my tear hits her cheek.

In the stories, I suppose that is what's supposed to wake her. Not in this case, though; it's me that finally rouses.

There is a part of Revan that has always scared me, even horrified me. No matter how kind he is, how much he loves Bastila and me or works to protect the Republic, there is another side of him: a being willing and powerful enough to grasp the world and bend it against its will to the shape Revan requires. When I discovered that within him, I promised myself I would never do that to another. I turned myself away from it, refused my foster father's urging to grasp more power, the sweet call of the Force to master it further. I refused to learn it.

But in this moment, I discover that somehow I know how to do it after all.

"Awaken, Jedi, your duty is not complete," I say, and this time it's my power, stronger than ever before, that seems to fill the air around us like a hot, hissing storm from the heart of Tatooine. It pursues Atris' fleeing life like fury itself unleashed. "Awaken, betrayer, you have not yet righted what you made wrong." The howling grows, filling the Force like the ringing bells of the monastery planet Bjoon, overwhelming her spirit until it collapses. "Awaken, Atris," I say a final time, and suddenly it's silent, still, as if the wind, birds, the Force, life, everything has stopped, a collective breath withheld, delayed, its return unsure. Waiting, for pure power is only enough when one is Revan or Bastila. "I… love you. Please come back."

I'm not sure how long it is before she stirs again, but it doesn't matter. My strength fills her, forces the air into the lungs, then her blood, and makes her heart beat.

"Why?" is her first breath, her eyes locking on mine almost before they open, but then they slide away.

"Indeed."


	10. Chapter 10

**I WILL LIVE:**

**PATTERNS OF BETRAYAL AND REDEMPTION III Chapter 10**

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**A/N:**

_...+ Trillian is the best (and either the happiest or roundest) beta-er in the whole world! Reasonable rates, too!_

_...+ This is a long chapter. I tried to reduce, cut it in two, etc... but this is the only way I could come to terms with. One problem I've discovered with flipping between characters is that I like to give each lots of attention when I get around to them. Ah well... something to work on for my next piece._

* * *

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**Toxel (Dantooine)**

The sound is too familiar, and too close, not to wake me up. My eyes open, taking in the idyllic scene even as my senses register the danger. The Beedu tree, rich with the fragrant yuu fruit, protects my body from the sun above, but its rich browns and green offer no defence from the purring beam of purple light that cuts across my vision.

The heat of the blade at my neck pins my body in place, but I strain my head upwards, following the beam of light towards its owner standing over my head. I'm waiting for the blade to cut into my flesh, but I want to see who wields it first. To my surprise, my neck is still untouched as my gaze lights upon the face of a purple-skinned Twi'lek female. The distinctive tattoos on her face clearly mark her as a powerful Sith.

I try to probe my captor's intentions with my senses, but the shields around her mind are thick, and the strength of the will infused in them is even more daunting.

Her eyes, almost as purple as her skin, hold my gaze for a few moments, and then deliberately move to her right. Instinctively, I think about escaping, but I sense no lessening of her guard. There's something about her—a boldness tempered by wary weariness—that reminds me of veterans from the Mandalorian wars that I've seen through my mother's eyes.

My body still, I move my head slowly to the right until my eyes light upon the Atris' prone body. It takes me a moment to realize that she is naked, and I feel a chill run down my spine when I notice the collar around her neck. I've never seen a force suppression device before, but I can feel the waves of disorientation leaking out of the silver circle.

"You've already labelled me as a Sith by my tattoos," the Sith Twi'lek says, her voice quiet but filled with unmistakable steel, "but the one who you travel with is something far more dangerous."

"If you've harmed her—" I start to say, narrowing my eyes, but the strange Twi'lek interrupts, unperturbed.

"Look, young Jedi, at the markings around your companion's spine."

I don't want to, for the urge to protect Atris fills me, but the siren song of blind rage can't sustain itself against the strength of conviction I sense within the Twi'lek. As I turn my gaze reluctantly back to Atris' vulnerable body, I notice the slight discolorations that follow the spine in her back.

They look so normal, like old bruises from an almost forgotten fall, but there's something about them that holds my gaze, some design or… my mother would say "pattern." Whatever it is, I can't quite decipher it; not even with the knowledge I've gained looking through my mother's eyes. There is something oddly unsettling about it, however, and compelling.

"Can you feel the pull, young Jedi? The seduction that you know is wrong, and yet calls you with such a sweet voice?"

What the Sith says is true, but it wasn't something I felt from Atris before. It must be something the purple Twi'lek put there. "What have you done to her?" I say through gritted teeth.

Though I'm trying to shield my mind, the Twi'lek responds as if she's read it. "I've done nothing but revealed what her power had before hid from you. Your supposed friend, and her redemption, are illusions."

"How do I—"

"Has she addled you so much that you can no longer use your senses, youngling? That is no new corruption you sense."

The Sith is right. The twisting of the Force within Atris feels old and settled, not newly placed.

"She could have killed me a hundred times…" I whisper. I want to ask the Sith why Atris didn't, but Revan has trained me too well. Better to seek the answers for myself rather than rely on those provided by another, especially one who might be an enemy. One, at least, who likely does not care about me or my mother.

_So why didn't Atris kill me if she was corrupted? Was it love that stayed her hand? _

It seems the obvious answer now. Though I had tried to avoid Atris' thoughts, in pulling my mentor back from the brink of death I had seen images in her mind. One of them had been the picture of a gleaming, black-hulled raider circling the planet, waiting above to destroy my ship. Another had been her confusion regarding the feelings for me that she couldn't make go away.

However, my instincts reject this simple answer. It's too… _plausible_ to fit with the ancient buried darkness within Atris. Whatever plot the Echani is engaged in has already spanned more than a decade of my life, and, I sense now, perhaps even much longer than that. It seemed unlikely that such a plot could founder so easily on one woman's attraction to a man many years her junior.

The rasping sound of a retracting lightsabre pulls me from my thoughts. The purple Twi'lek woman has moved away from me, and is now fitting the hilt of her blade into her belt. For the first time, I notice the clothes she is wearing, realizing as I do that they don't fit the markings on her face.

The long brown shirt and loose pants are made of synth-silk, or another thin cloth that rests almost weightlessly on her body, showing its curves without clinging to it suggestively. They speak of lightness and grace rather than seduction, destruction and domination. Only the thick black belt strapped around her middle, and the lightsabre and blaster hanging from it, suggests a purpose more deadly than a walk in the woods.

"Who are you?" I ask as I sit up. I want to stand and pace, but I feel dizzy, disorientated. Too much that is strange has happened recently, or perhaps I used too much power in calling Atris' spirit back before she could flee this life.

The Sith snorts. "Do you want the long or short answer?" Then she walks forward, her hand outstretched. "Yuthura Ban," she says when I grudgingly shake it.

"Yuthura…" An image fills my mind: my two foster parents leaning over cups of steaming cups of kaffa, their heads close. Around them are the muted brown colours of the soft mud walls of our small kitchen, one of several buildings around the courtyard of our home on Tatooine. The hissing wind outside rattles the windows and sneaks through the walls to make the candles dance.

What an awkward moment to realize how much I miss my foster parents.

I probe the memory, drawing on the skills I've developed exploring those I've borrowed from other's minds. I'm too far to hear their words, but I'm close enough to see and sense Bastila's sadness as they talk. So I reach out with my power to follow their conversation. My foster mother is worrying about a Sith she rescued and befriended. When Revan tells her that the Twi'lek woman was responsible for her own welfare, Bastila scolds him for being thoughtless in abandoning the female dark Jedi when she was lost and confused, but she stops halfway and then I feel her pushing me away with the Force.

Every few months after that, I overhear Bastila and Revan having the same conversation, Bastila always worried and Revan trying to calm her.

Yuthura is watching me with her eyebrow raised when I free myself from the old memory. "Bastila talked about you with Revan many times," I say, compelled to explain my temporary silence. "She worried about you constantly. She said that you stayed with her after…"

"After she rescued me from the wastes of Korriban," Yuthura continues for me when I pause, a soft, sad smile on her face, "and gave me a home where I began the process of finding myself again. Force, I miss Tatooine," Yuthura takes a deep breath, and then she continues, her eyes moving from mine to gaze blindly at the landscape, her voice growing distant like a storyteller. "The history books will say that Revan 'saved' me from the Sith, but that is a small part of the story. Revan broke my shell of delusion, but left me to sort out the rest. I didn't know how, for there seemed no path left that was open to one who had been a slave, failed Jedi, and finally an undone Sith. So I fled to the wastes of Korriban. I think I went there to die, and I would have, except that Revan told Bastila about me before he left for the Outer Rim.

"Afterwards, she found me on Korriban and brought me to her home on Tatooine. Your home. She took care of me until I could find my own way. She shared her heart with me, let me see into her own struggles with the power within her, which could no longer fit the easy definitions of light or dark side. She showed me how to walk alone, and how to live with my own passions and fears. From her, I found the way to live with purpose. My purpose."

"That certainly sounds like her," I sigh. "I remember her saying that you saved her too. That you were… _family_." I look into Yuthura's eyes, and try to instill my next words with the force of my conviction. "To call you 'family' is a big deal for Bastila. She doesn't let many people in her life since her family died and the Jedi Order betrayed her. She's been devastated all these years because you never contacted her."

Yuthura turns away from my gaze, but not before I see the deep sadness descend upon her face. "I didn't want to disappoint her," she says, so quietly I wonder if she meant me to hear it. _Too bad, because I did._

"What happened to you after her home? Why are you here?" _And how do you know about me? And what game are you playing?_

"What happened after I left?" Yuthura shakes her head slowly, and a small, forced smile is on sad face when she faced me again. As she gathers herself to respond, I notice the small, old lines around her eyes, mouth, and the rest of her face that speak of deep sorrow and pain. "That, young Jedi, is a tale too long to tell. Suffice it to—"

My soft words cut her short. "You want me to trust you," I say, and her startled look confirms my guess. "And since that's the case—"

"I'm not the only one," the Twi'lek Sith snaps, "who has to earn another's trust on this day."

"You're already trusting me or…" I shrug my shoulders, "I suppose you could be trying to manipulate me by pretending to trust me. In either case, I think it would be fair for you to share a little information. You certainly seem to know something about me already and, besides, I've grown used to collecting unexpected tales…"

Yuthura heaves out a short, sharp sigh, then unexpectedly drops her shields, allowing me to sense the truth of the words that follow. "I've revealed more than I have to already, Toxel, son of Xi Lan, and soon others more powerful and more numerous than you or I can handle will come searching for this one," she nods at Atris, "and you. We've dallied enough. You can fight me or follow me, but you have to decide now."

Though I'm tempted to delve deeper into Yuthura's exposed mind, I pull back from it as she finishes. Her shields slam shut with an almost audible snap almost before I leave. "Let's go," I say simply.

It doesn't take long to bundle Atris up into the anti-grav sled that Yuthura has brought. Pulling the sled, we jog through the forest until we reach a small, shaded clearing in which a small, black raider craft rests. It is similar to the one that likely still waits for me above, but it has small torpedo bays that the other lacked and it is more circular where the other is flat.

As if sensing my comparison, Yuthura speaks quietly while we lift Atris' body onto one of the beds in the starboard dormitory. "Both ships are made by the Mon Calmari, though this one is a better model." The Twi'lek pauses to looks at me and I can sense her measuring my reaction as she continues, "The Exchange has much to offer those that serve it, especially when facing an enemy such as the ones that Atris serves."

"The Exchange?" I yelp, remembering the droid's attacks on Telos. I pull my blades into my hands and ignite them in one motion, but Yuthura ignores them.

"Not is all that it seems, Toxel," the Twi'lek says as she calmly straps Atris' body to the bed. "Remember what happened on Telos. Who did the droids attack?"

"Atris, but that doesn't explain the human thugs that came later, the ones just outside the Telos Academy."

"And who was it that 'saved' you that time, Toxel?" she asks as she ties her last knot. "Who gained your favour and trust from the attack? Who acted with surprising heroism?" Sighing, the Sith tugs on the bindings one last time, and then rises and walks towards the cockpit, still ignoring my blades. "Who diverted your attention when you started asking questions about why anyone would attack a broken Jedi who has done nothing of note over the last ten years? Besides," the Twi'lek shrugs, "as you will discover, my master is not too fond of using organic life-forms for important missions."

"Your boss sent you, didn't he?" I snap as she sits down in the pilot's chair and activates the engine.

"I'm no ordinary operative," she smirks up at me. "Look, are you going to sit down or not? This baby doesn't take long to warm up and we need to leave here."

"Who is your boss, then?"

Yuthura doesn't answer; instead she lets her gaze wander down towards my blades and then up again, raising her eyebrow as her eyes meet mine. Now it's my turn to sigh. Thumbing off my blades, I sit down and strap myself into the chair beside her.

"Well?" I ask again, but again she ignores my question as she engages the engine. The configuration of the controls seems alien as Yuthura fiddles with them, but sooner than I would expect we are lifting into the sky.

"Hang on," she says as we shift from daylight into the eternal night of space, "we've got company."

She accelerates away from the system, but not as quickly as I expect. _Too slow_, I think, sensing the larger raider that approaches quickly from our rear. I can feel the focus of the ship's crew as they close on us, and can sense their tension leap as its captain orders his crew to fire on us. Before they can implement his orders, Yuthura's power bursts outwards like an exploding star, straining my shields and stunning the entire crew of the enemy ship.

It doesn't take long for our enemies to recover, but they are not quick enough. Two missiles slam into their ship, and it bursts into flaming bits.

"People have forgotten how deadly a Sith pilot is," Yuthura says with soft satisfaction as she programs the hyperdrive. "Hopefully that will remain the same for a while longer." She moves to put us into hyperspace, but I place my hand on hers before she can engage the drive.

"Who is your boss and where are we going?" I ask, this time reinforcing my questions with a flash of my own not insignificant power. I might not win a battle with this mysterious woman, but the outcome is far from certain.

"To see my employer, Goto," she says calmly, as if I'm not confronting her. "He's the head of the entire Exchange. Our mutual enemies have moved faster than he anticipated, so he would like to discuss the possibility of cooperation, perhaps even an alliance."

"I'm not working for the Exchange," I growl.

"Would you accept the Exchange working for you?" Yuthura shoots right back, her eyes twinkling.

"You're kidding, right?" I ask, and to my surprise she slowly shakes her head.

"It wouldn't be a permanent arrangement, of course, but perhaps we might assist you in achieving your goals."

"Why? What have you to gain from my endeavour? How do you even know what it is?" I say.

"My employer wants to preserve the Republic from any further harm. Those that pursue you feed upon its current troubles. Since they seem more and more interested in stopping you, we think it would be a good idea to help you."

"And who are these enemies?"

"We don't know that much about them. Look, youngling, if it makes more sense to you, think of it as the Exchange watching out for its business interests. A stable Republic means more long term profits for us." To my surprise, Yuthura puts her hand on mine. "My employer's reasons are, of course, more complicated than that, but will that suffice for now? I'm sure he will answer your questions more fully when we arrive."

"And what about Atris?" I say softly.

"Let us take care of her, Toxel. We have—"

"You will not do anything but restrain her," I cut across her words. Atris may have betrayed me; that darkness within her is impossible to ignore, as was her knowledge of the ship that awaited me above. But I need to know for sure. Besides, despite the lack of threat I feel from Yuthura, I don't and won't trust the Exchange with my guide's welfare.

"Goto didn't believe me," the Twi'lek says, her smile now self-satisfied, "when I told him you would be stubborn on this point, but I know those who brought you up. Luckily for him, I won that argument and got him to agree to your terms ahead of time."

_And I'm still being out-anticipated. _"And how do I know the Exchange will keep any part of this bargain you're proposing? Or am I supposed to trust your… honour?"

"Honour," she snorts, but then I hear a soft cooing sound come out from underneath the panel in front of her. It seems that my day has not had its fill of surprises, for Yuthura's face softens almost instantly as she reaches down and pulls a small gizka into her lap. As she strokes it, I see her whole body relax, unwind until a sardonic smile lifts the corners of her mouth. _That's right, Bastila did mention that Yuthura had formed some kind of bond with a gizka._

"Fine," Yuthura relents, "I swear on what little remains of my honour. Satisfied?"

"Not really," I respond absently. Yuthura laughs, but I'm too distracted by what I see between the gizka and her to join in. There is a connection between them, one that I recognize intimately, my sight augmented by my experience with Visas' abilities. And when I think about Visas, I remember where I've seen Yuthura before. The Miraluka had noticed the two on Dantooine as the blind Sith had made her way to confront my mother.

"You were on Dantooine when…" I hesitate when I realize that I was going to say "my mother" instead of the Exile. But somehow, I realize that Yuthura already knows. "You know who my true mother is, don't you?" Yuthura nods. "And you're not going to tell me how you know, are you?" This time, the Twi'lek shakes her head, the corner of her lips sneaking upwards briefly. "Fine," I snap, "then tell me why you were on Dantooine when she was."

"How do you know that?" she asks, her eyes now searching mine. Though I don't feel any Force probes, I strengthen my shields anyway.

_Does her question confirm that she didn't read my datapads while I was asleep, or just indicate that she hasn't gotten that far yet? Frack, if we keep at this back and forth probing, we'll both be exhausted before we even leave this planet!_ "I have my ways," I say, imitating her smirk, "but you haven't answered my question."

Yuthura lips quirk upwards again, and then she shrugs. "I was already working for the Exchange then. Goto had heard that one of his lieutenants was fomenting a coup on the planet against his orders. My employer sent me to investigate, and to stop the rebellion if the information was true. More instability in the Republic was the last thing my employer wanted, and Goto suspected that the lieutenant was trying to build a power base for an eventual attack on him.

"When I got there, your mother, Xi Lan," she smirks, "had just finished dealing with the mercenaries and so I stayed to observe her." Yuthura pauses, then continues, her voice more serious. "Don't tell my boss about that last part, okay? There was a bounty on Jedi at that point, but I didn't tell him about her." The Twi'lek continues before I can ask her why. "Not that it mattered in the end, of course. Your mother left for Nar Shaddaa the next day and got caught by Goto a few weeks later."

There are so many questions I want to ask, but I feel overwhelmed, lost in the tangled plots that seemed to have overwhelmed both my mother and I. _Is this the same web my mother and I are entangled in, or different ones? _"This all seems too incredible," I sigh instead.

"But that is the way of the Force," she sighs along with me, before favouring me with another sardonic grin. "Look, Toxel, I know you have lots of questions, but let's get out of here, first." The Sith puts her hand on the hyperdrive control and raises her eyebrow at me. I nod and a moment later, the stars on the screen turn into long streaks. _Bastila, Atris, and now Yuthura._ _What is it about me_, _that makes_ _powerful, Force-using women determined to disrupt my life and take me somewhere far away and unexpected? _

When we're settled into hyperspace, I return to an earlier question. "Who is hunting me?"

"Let's do this over some kaffa," Yuthura says, getting up from her chair. The gizka hops behind me as I follow her. It doesn't take long for the Twi'lek to prepare two cups of steaming kaffa in the small kitchen, though her brew is not nearly as good as Atris'. We sit down in the two chairs.

"What was the question again?" Yuthura asks after taking her first sip. The gizka hops into the Sith's lap and her hand reflexively strokes its skin.

"Does your gizka have a name?" I ask.

"Jenti," she smiles softly, and the animal coos as she favours it with a soft smile. Then her face turns more serious as she looks back at me. "I spoke the truth, youngling, when I said we don't know much about those that hunt you. We don't even know who 'they' really are save that they use the Force, are very good at hiding, and that they seek to destabilize the Republic."

"I thought Revan and my mother had already dealt with all the Sith? And if not, where in frack do they all keep coming from?" Taking a deep breath, I continue, trying my best to imitate Atton's sarcastic drawl. "Is there some kind of hidden factory or something?"

Yuthura laughs and it shows me that the lines of age on her face are not all from hard times. There are new signs of wear, marks of more recent laughter and happiness among the scars of pain and the tattoos of domination.

"Do you know where they are in the Republic?" I ask.

"No. The Republic is so big, they could be hiding almost anywhere, especially given the significant power that they have. It's almost impossible, as you may already know, to find Force users when they decide to hide."

"But as soon as they start to gather an army…"

"We would probably be able to find them, yes. But what if their goal isn't to conquer the Republic?"

"Isn't that part of their job description?" I snort and Yuthura laughs briefly. _Frack, I've spent too much time in Atton's head. Still, I can see why Atton was always using that sarcastic humour. When everything is fracked-up, better to laugh about it._

I wonder if I should tell her about what I saw from the assassin's clothes, but I'm not ready to trust Yuthura and the Exchange yet. Still, there is much to think about. _Revan spent many years hunting what he called the "true Sith" along the Outer Rim, but he never found them. I wonder if these are the ones he was searching for? I certainly felt a dark and powerful evil from the clothes of those assassins._ _But I'm not going to tell you that yet, Yuthura, no matter what Bastila thought about you, and even if my instincts tell me that you're okay. _

"Well, what else does a Sith want?" Then, softening my voice to make it as non-judgemental as possible, I continue. "Wouldn't you be able to answer that question better than me?"

"Okay, youngling, I'll answer my own question. Power, perhaps, of a different kind? Goto's theory is that they want to take over the Republic from within. If so, the situation is close to ideal right now, with the Jedi all but obliterated and Revan seemingly content to retire on Tatooine with his lover and child. And—"

"But that doesn't make sense," I interrupt, then pause, waiting for my thinking to catch up with my words. "If they want Revan's attention to remain elsewhere, the last thing they would do is kill me."

"You've hit the nail on the head, youngling," Yuthura says her eyebrow raised. I bristle, suddenly tired of the Sith constantly reminding me of my youth. I open my mouth to interrupt her, but she raises her hand, forestalling me while she considers me carefully. Finally, she nods. "You're right, Toxel. You may wear the body of a youth, but you are obviously mature beyond your years. I apologize for my manners."

I'm not sure how sincere the apology is; the purple woman certainly doesn't look like she feels ashamed or anything like that. But I guess that this is probably the best I will get from the hard woman, so I nod and she continues, "Yes, that's what got our attention. And the only answer to that question that we've been able to think of is that whatever you are doing is more dangerous to them that awakening Revan's ire would be."

"Now, that I find that hard to believe. What could so threatening about my actions?"

"We're not sure. What really awoke our attention was the presence of Atris. We've been watching her for a long time, after Goto identified her as a potential danger to the Republic." Yuthura's brows crease as she continues. "We didn't know about that old darkness within her, though. That was a new discovery to us as well. I only discovered it after I put the Force suppressor on her."

_Force, each answer only brings up more questions._ "If you didn't know about it, then why did your boss… Goto was it?" Yuthura nods. "Why did Goto think Atris was a threat?"

"Well," Yuthura shrugs, "Atris was a Sith before, was she not? But frankly, I'm not sure why. My employer chose not to share his reasoning with me."

"Why didn't he act against Atris sooner if he thought she was dangerous?"

"He didn't tell me that either, Toxel, though he did instruct me to tell you one thing when you asked that question. He said that he thought the Exile, your mother, had taken care of the Echani Jedi already."

"My mother did what?" I bark. I hate it that this Twi'lek seems to have information on my mother's journey that I don't have. "How would your boss know about something like that? There are certainly no records of anything like that."

"I'm sorry," Yuthura says softly, raising her hands, palms towards me, "but Goto likes to keep his cards close to his chest."

"And so I have even more reason to go see him," I say slowly, thinking over the implications. "How much of all this has he anticipated?"

"That's hard to tell," Yuthura shrugs. "As you will soon discover, Goto is somewhat unique as Exchange boss, and he has resources that likely no else has."

"Fine," I sigh, "So, you decided to follow us because of Atris. Why does that make you think the Sith are inside the Republic rather than outside it?"

"Frankly, the idea just popped into my head when Goto and I were discussing what to make of Atris' decision to meet up with you. You know," she continues, twirling her finger up in the air lazily, "the Force and all that. Well, Goto thought about it for a while after that, and decided that the idea had some merit. So he sent me to find you."

_And how did you do that? Not even Revan and Bastila have been able to find me. _There's a twinkle in the Sith's eyes, and so I hold the obvious question, asking another instead. "And I assume that Goto got some data before deciding to support your idea?"

"Toxel," Yuthura snorts, "by the time we meet with him, Goto will be able to give you more data than you'll ever want to see."

_Too much information, not enough brainspace. I need to process this_. "So it seems that the answers to most questions lie on Nar Shaddaa with Goto?" The Twi'lek nods. "Okay. Look, if you don't mind, I'm going to go to my room. I need a break to think through all this."

"Understood." Yuthura nods at the bag she brought into the room. It's the same one she had carried on Dantooine. "Atris' clothes are in that bag. I didn't find any clues in them, but you should take a look. I don't know the full extent of your capabilities, but—"

"You've been reading my data—" I start to accuse her bitterly.

"Hold that thought, Toxel. I may be Exchange, but there are limits to what I will do." Then the Twi'lek woman smirks. "Well… at least when it comes to the 'good people.' Look, I don't know exactly what it is that you can do, but it seems that people leave you items and that those are enough for you to find your way around."

I wonder how much she knows about what I've found and about what my quest is if she hasn't read the datapad, but I decide not to pursue the matter. Though I don't like it, I'm getting used to people knowing more than I expect. Sighing, I get up from the seat. Yuthura says nothing as I fetch the clothes and head towards the unoccupied dormitory on the port side.

After closing the door behind me, I sit on a bed and pull out Atris' clothes, putting one of the other against my heart to search for images and information. I don't know how Atris did it, but her possessions reveal almost nothing to me despite the effort of hours. The sensations, images, and thoughts within the robes seem to have been shredded and mixed together, leaving only one moment that is clear: a picture of my departing back striding away towards the Dantooine academy, Atris' piercing regret giving way to a sense of almost suffocating purpose.

Frustrated, I hurl Atris' clothes into the corner. I never thought the turbulent story of my mother's journey would seem simpler and less confusing than my own, but now, as I pull the Last Handmaiden's robes out of my bag, it seems like a refuge. _I know I should check on Atris, and think through what has happened since the Twi'lek woke me up, but it's too much_. Sighing, I place the Handmaiden's robe against my heart.

----------------------------

**The Last Handmaiden (the **_**Ebon Hawk**_**, Nar Shaddaa)**

I step away from the slow-fighting exercise, frustrated and annoyed. I'm weary, my head pounds and my eyes are watering, and yet I have done nothing more strenuous at all.

"I know it's hard to work this slowly," the Disciple speaks, his voice soft, yet imploring, "but you will find practicing this way will significantly aid your fighting."

The Disciple and I had come to the cargo bay to practice this new training exercise. Since he first showed it to me, I've wanted to master it. The problem is, doing so has turned out to be much harder than I thought, especially for something that looked so easy at first.

And though it pains me to admit it to myself, I'm also finding it difficult to accept that the scholar is better than me at something martial.

Picking up my water bottle, I drink slowly, using the time to consider the blond man who waits patiently in the centre of the cargo bay. His face, unlike mine, is calm and his eyes are filled with pleasant warmth. He's wearing a light white shirt and shorts; the sweat that soaks streams down his face and torso shows at least that he's finding the deceptive training as tiring as I do. The Disciple's body is firm and toned, yet another surprise that he seems to hide from the world.

And yet, thought he looks like he always does, today there's something about his stance that tells me something else is going on inside of him. I can't tell what it is, the emotions behind it must be strong for it to show on the scholar's face.

The Disciple raises an eyebrow and I turn away, realizing that I've been staring at him for too long. It's something I find myself doing more often these days, especially after he first introduced the idea of training together.

When the Disciple had first asked to train with me, I had refused him. I had not wanted to waste my time on one without skill or understanding of the art of combat. The next day, however, the Disciple suggested that we duel to prove his worth, an offer no Echani could refuse. To my surprise, he had done quite well.

Afterwards, I asked him about some unusual moves he had used during the fight and about the calm patience that I had felt within him. In response, he had started showing me an unusual practice regime that, he said, "a master instructor used to train me."

I'm still not sure what the benefits of these interactive, slow-movement, exercises will be, but now that I have started, I know I will not stop until I have mastered them.

"Okay," I say, lifting my practice sword, "let's try again."

This time, the exercise goes better. Much better. We're doing a mock free fight, engaging each other in a duel but as slowly as we can manage. As our swords and bodies execute the moves at a snail's pace, I feel my impatience starting to fade into the background. A soft clack sounds as our swords gently kiss before retreating to initiate the next move. Another meeting, then a withdrawal and I start feeling like I'm part of a dance. Our bodies sway, slide languidly and yet with great precision from move to move, the connection between our moves seeming to grow and grow with each step.

The almost inaudible rustle of clothes as we move, the silence that grows to fill the intervals between each clacking of our swords, the buried sense of purpose that slowly reveals itself in the motions of the scholar. Even my overactive senses, the ones that have always distracted me in the past, now begin walk in tune with my body, and for the first time I feel whole.

"I would speak with you."

The words of the blind Sith appear without warning in my mind, dispelling my focus and returning me abruptly into the cold, metallic world that I've known as home… until now. The Disciple and I stand frozen, dazed by our sudden exit from what must have been Umma, the Echani state of no-mind in which battle transcends life. As the scholar and I try to gather our wits, the Miraluka waits silently.

_Whether she knows what she did or not does not matter. To break my concentration so effortlessly requires great power. She has revealed herself once and for all as a threat worth watching._

"What…" the Disciple's voice rasps, barely audible. He stops, clears his throat before continuing. "What can we do for you, mistress Visas?"

"That… dance, where did you learn it?"

"You are no warrior, Sith," I snap, "and that was no Itti festival _dance_. If you're looking for entertainment, go find the pilot. Now leave us." I don't care what the Exile says, I will not trust the Miraluka. I still retain a small portion of the training's clarity of vision and it confirms what I've always felt. There is something _wrong _about the Miraluka, a shadow of death that hovers around her and endangers us all.

_How can the Exile trust her? The Miraluka is a student of betrayal. How else did she survive Kataar and emerge as a Sith?_

"I do not seek training from you, sister Echani," the object of my thoughts continues, turning her head back towards the Disciple, "or your mate." I open my mouth to retort, but then the words stop in my throat when the scholar blushes.

"But the whispers of power stir in your room tonight, and something more," Visas continues, pretending not to notice the reactions her words have provoked. "Again I ask, sister Echani and Disciple of the Exile, where did you learn this technique?"

_Disciple of the Exile? _The blush on the scholar's face deepens, though his face remains pleasant and he says nothing. _Who does he think he fools? _

The anger I feel at the scholar's secrets, and how easily the Miraluka drags them into the light, quickly shatters. _The Sith seeks to sow confusion among us… and she is succeeding_.

I feel like I'm become engaged in a silent, yet deadly battle, but in a field I can not identify and with stakes that are crucial yet unknown. I'm not a diplomat-warrior like my father once was, and I lack his ability to parse apart the intricacies of relationships, politics, and other intangibles. That does not mean, however, that I will stand idle.

I fashion my words carefully, making them as clean and precise as I can, seeking to cut through the confusion and distortion the Sith weaves. "You use language and observations like an assassin, Sith, turning them into poison, but you will fail here. What the Disciple and I do here builds on honour and discipline. Return to us when you learn that a sword is a state of mind and not a tool with which to cut down your enemies from behind."

But my strikes find no purchase in the Miraluka, she continues to delve as if I have not spoken a word.

"You were dancing and the Force… came alive around you, and between you," the blind Sith says, cocking her head to one side. "It had the feel of something forgotten, an aspect of the past lost… in a maelstrom of tragedy. I sensed a nascent connection growing between you two that reminds me of my people, but there was something else…" she pauses, leaving space for the Disciple or I to jump in, but I have no words to add and I can't help waiting to see what the Sith will say.

"The Exile. More than what existed among my people, what you were forming tastes of the Exile… It's… something now dormant within her… of her past," the blind Sith says finally. Her sense of focus abruptly returns, and her gaze pin the Disciple mercilessly. "You _must_ show the Exile the way back to it."

I wait for the Disciple to say something, but he just stands there, silently regarding the Miraluka. And yet, though the scholar's face remains calm, a slight shift in his posture reveals a growing uncertainty within him. To my surprise, I feel an urge to protect him.

"What are you up to, Sith?" I say, making my voice deliberately sharp and cold to break the spell that she seems to have cast on the blond scholar and me. She ignores me again, but uttering the words seem to free me and I move to interpose myself between the blind Sith and the Disciple, walking towards the Miraluka until I'm looking down at her, our bodies separated by no more than a breath.

But the Miraluka continues to ignore me, does not even change the angle of her regard. It's as if I'm no longer there, and perhaps, to her senses, I'm not.

"It's okay, Handmaiden," the Disciple says quietly.

"Do not let the Sith's words influence you," I say. "I do not know what her purpose is here, but it is self-serving and likely destructive."

"Self-serving?" the Miraluka breathes. "Perhaps, but do not each of us follow the Exile for reasons that are our own first, and the galaxy's second? But the threat that faces the Exile, and thus all of us, is far beyond anything that you know. Only the Exile can face it, and she will fail unless she is ready. You _must_ help her remember this aspect of herself."

"It may bring her pain," the Disciple responds, his voice now tinted with a concern that somehow stings me, "and what I know is only a little."

"What determines the shape of the tree, the seed or the water that causes it to sprout? Show her what you know, Disciple of the Exile, and trust that she will do the rest."

_Again this 'Disciple of the Exile?' What game is the Sith playing? _"I do not trust—" I start to say to the Disciple, but once again, the Miraluka cuts through my words easily.

"Sister Echani," she says, "can the warrior learn from one she taught? And if I am your enemy, does that mean I have nothing to teach you?"

I can not respond to the blind Sith's questions without yielding the field, for the Miraluka is right in her questions. _The Miraluka truly uses words and insight as __skillfully__ as an Echani warrior uses her body and weapons, and she knows far too much about my culture. _

"Show her," Visas says again, more forcefully, and the Disciple nods. Though I can't shake my fear for the Disciple and the Exile, I say nothing as the Miraluka leaves.

"I think," the Disciple begins a few moments after the Miraluka leaves, "that this would be a good time for a nice meal, preferably outside the ship."

"Excuse me?" I say shocked.

"Do you need to shower first, or can we just go?" Though his voice is light, there are slight shifts in how he stands and holds his arms and head speak of an urgent need to move, to exit.

"At the very least, I think we should talk about—" but the Disciple doesn't hear me, seemingly absorbed in pulling his clothes on. The hesitancy in his movements, they touch something within me and I still my objections, pulling my clothes on quickly and leaving when he gestures for me to proceed him.

"We're going out to eat," the Disciple announces loudly as we pass through the main room, "does anyone want to join us?"

"Um… no," Atton drawled from the cockpit. "Though I'm sure the ladies would appreciate seeing my rugged looks lit by those two light bulbs you call heads, I think I'd rather stay here and eat our fearless leader's three-day old Bontha stew."

"I'll pass too," Bao-Dur chuckles as he walks by, wiping his greasy hands with an old towel that may be even dirtier. The Miraluka is thankfully absent and the Exile is in Kreia's room for one of their regular sessions.

The Disciple is waiting for me to leave with him, but I hesitate. I always stay in the ship when the Exile is here, especially when either the Miraluka or Kreia are about. I'm afraid that if I leave, I will come back to find Xi Lan either dead or forever changed into something dark and evil.

I'm still not sure which blind Sith, the young or the old one, is more dangerous, but either way it seems like Xi Lan has lost all perspective when it comes to those two. The only saving grace is that the two of them spend much of their time competing rather than cooperating. When they are in the same room together, their posture and body movements indicate preparation for battle. Kreia hardly comes out of her room since Visas joined the crew, and while the Miraluka never seems to leave the Exile's side, she never ventures into Kreia's room, even when the Exile is training there.

"She will be alright," the Disciple says, gently tugging on my arm. His face is calm when I turn to search it, as it always is, though his body still displays the small signs of unease.

_This need to move is a vulnerability that an experienced warrior can exploit with stillness and tactics of deception such as feints. But_, I sigh to myself as I let the Disciple pull me gently down the ramp,_ he truly does seem to need me._ At first, the idea of comforting the Disciple, perhaps hearing some kind of confession, seems repulsive. I was brought up despising weakness. _But this man has been kind to me the only one besides the Exile. And I'm no longer in the Academy where my sisters and I are responsible for testing each other for moments of weakness._ _Under the Exile's command, weakness is something we strengthen through listening and acceptance rather than harsh testing and unforgiving re-instruction. And it seems to work._

"Shall we just walk for a bit?" the Disciple asks.

_Remember your father, Brianna. He fought with more than his fists and his wits, and his stakes were nothing less than the heart of his people. Now, the Disciple's heart has been wounded, and he needs someone to fight by his side._

"Okay," I say, taking the Disciple's hand. The look of shock on his face is truly the first time I've seen him reveal an honest reaction, and the warrior and aspiring leader within me both celebrate our first small victory.

----------------------------

As we sit down in the open air restaurant, I marvel at the last hour, and what I have discovered.

Much to my surprise, the Disciple and I had walked in silence, our hands lightly gripped together the whole time. We had never had to ask one another where to go, and I'm still not sure who between had chosen the path, and indeed even the restaurant where we eat now.

But was more surprising was what that silence had revealed. Or, at least, hinted at.

As we strolled through the Refugee Sector, and then into this neighbouring shopping district, I had grown increasingly aware of how _alive_ this moon really is. The people who swirl around each other now, they seem so independent, so separate as they each follow their own hidden purposes. So many actions so tightly and intricately interwoven, and yet the individual playing in this grand drama remain blind, so immersed in the illusion of their desperate search for independence and security.

Watching them pass by the restaurant now, I feel like I am in a boat, floating peacefully while a deep and unfathomable river surges beneath me, its depths and power only barely revealed by how it froths and roars in my ears.

Unbidden, the husky words the Miraluka Sith spoke when we first landed on the planet fill my ears. "This moon is a swarming cloak, a shadow of emotions. Never have I been to a place so alive with the Force, yet so dead to it. The contrast is like a blade."

_What must it be like to be a Force user? How wonderful and terrifying to swim in the stream rather than float over it like I do now! How I…_ The envy I feel shocks me. I've hated the Jedi all my life, for corrupting my father and for failing in their honour during the Mandalorian wars. It was what all we Handmaidens did, for we believed Atris when she told us about the fall of her Order, and why she had to rebuild it alone. But now, seeing the thrumming life around me, just out of reach, I realize how much I _want _to see what the Jedi and Sith do.

And the guilty desire I feel, scares me too. I don't want to be my mother, who forsook her vows, and made my father abandon his honour and family to be with her. How could she have done it, with her ability to see so deeply into life, and thus know the impacts of her actions?

It is difficult to tear myself away from the moon's compelling life, but I will be lost if I do. I force myself to turn attention away, lock my eyes on the Disciple like a drowning woman grasps a lifeline. And yet, there is little safety there; in his eyes see distant bright gaze of one who has seen an unexpected marvel. And yet, knowing that the scholar and I share this moment, and stand similarly removed from the true wonder of immersion, it soothes the doubt in me. It is enough, for now, to share what we see but can not touch. I do not need the Jedi to experience this, only a good companion.

I wonder if we'll spend the next hour sitting here like star-struck lovers, staring into each other's eyes.

But we aren't lovers. Or at least, I don't think we are, though I have no experience in the area.

I hear someone close clearing her throat and I start, realizing that the waitress and the Disciple are waiting for me to order. To my mortification, I feel heat rise in my cheeks, that I was so lost in my thoughts that I let someone approach me without noticing. The waitress retreats as I try to disentangle myself from my thoughts, the smile on her face revealing her misinterpretation of my behaviour.

Willing my blood to settle, I force myself to consider the menu, finally settling on a simple set of sausages and pickled vegetables. When the waitress arrives again, the Disciple waits for me to order and then requests a simple vegetarian stew and, to my surprise, two Tarisian ales.

"You don't drink," I blurt when the waitress leaves.

"No," the Disciple says, a small yet clearly satisfied smile growing on his face, "I don't drink on the ship. There's enough alcohol being consumed there already and I prefer my drinks one at a time."

The waitress is already back placing one mug in front of each of us. "I've never drank alcohol before," I say as we lift up our mugs. "I'm already too distracted in my training." I intend to pass the mug to him, but suddenly I'm tired of being predictable. Lifting the ale, I take a cautious mouthful. The drink is smooth, yet bitter, a taste that I've grown to quite like recently.

"Now I know," I say, unable to withhold the small smile that curls the ends of my lips, "why I like Atton's 'surprise chilli.'"

"Hmm…" he says, taking a sip of his own, "You're right, I never noticed the similarity until now."

After that, the scholar and I sink contentedly back into silent companionship, focusing on the ale, and then the meals that follow. It's only when the last plates are cleared away that the Disciple talks.

"I read the 'The Battle in Politics,' your father's treatise," he says, his eyes suddenly more intense than I've ever seen them. "Your father's words influenced me greatly, and so I learned as much about him as I could. In some of the more obscure Republic datafiles, I found a picture of General Yusanis and your mother. I recognize her on your face, and your patience today speaks of your father."

_I think it is you not I who learned much from my father's works_. Normally I would challenge the Disciple's flattery, but tonight seems to demand different tactics. "Thank you," I say instead, and the scholar nods, smiling slightly.

Again, the silence grows between us, but this one is filled with expectation. A conversation is waiting to happen, though its content will depend on who starts speaking first. Instinctively, I know that it is my role to wait. To my surprise, the Disciple breaks down after only two minutes.

"I trained as a Jedi when I was young and I developed a deep admiration for the Exile when she trained my fellow Padawans and me. I dreamed about becoming her apprentice one day, and strived to excel in all ways so that I would be worthy. And then, three months before I was going to apply, she… the Exile… left for the war. And I chose not to, even though other Padawans did. I couldn't get past my sense of duty to the Order. I regretted that choice every day for many years, even knowing here," he taps his head, "what happened to those that did go." He sighs, then continues, "She was the ideal Jedi—compassionate, dedicated, and always kind—and she showed me and many other students the Force in ways that no instructor ever did."

_He speaks of admiration, but his body says something else._"She is a natural leader," I say, ignoring the sudden squeeze that constricts my heart, "and beautiful too."

The Disciple nods. "Yes, she is. You have seen to the heart of the matter, Handmaiden. Though I've spent much time denying it, what you imply is true. I loved her. But she is no longer for me."

"Why?" I ask, surprised. "Because she bedded the Iridonian? To an Echani, the mechanic's success with the Exile would be a call to battle, not a reason to surrender."

"Perhaps that is wise. Unfortunately, I do not much experience in these matters." As the Disciple speaks, his mild blue eyes meet mine, and this time the mildness in them does not disguise the sharp scrutiny behind.

My heart suddenly thumps loudly in my ears, and I fight desperately to still the hot blood that threatens to paint my face with my naïve innocence. "I…" I begin, then clear my throat when I realize it's dry. "I apologize for my blunt and probably naïve advice. Love is a battle I have studied, but waged."

"Ah… that would make two of us."

"Are you still a Jedi then? Are you hiding like the others we are seeking?" I ask, suddenly desperate to change the subject.

"No, Handmaiden. I never truly was a Jedi. When the Exile and so many others left for the war, there were too few Knights and Masters to train the Padawans who remained. Besides, I had sworn myself that I would follow the Exile and no other. Soon after she left, I did too, though I joined the Republic's diplomatic corp."

"Why didn't you follow her?"

"Because, when she left, and my heart broke, I realized that it was not Xi Lan the Jedi that I had revered so much as Xi Lan the woman. That love went against everything the Jedi Code had taught me and if I could not honour the rules and insights of my Order, then I had to find another calling that I could be true to. Only when I was true to my self, I thought, would it be appropriate to pursue the Exile." The Disciple pauses, then shakes his head. "I was very naïve then."

"I suppose many would say so, especially those in our crew, but I do not agree. Your actions were those of an Echani warrior. True love requires self-awareness and a heart that knows and respects itself without compromise."

"I thank you for your words, Handmaiden. They lighten my heart…" The Disciple words fade.

But in this remarkable night, I know the words he does not say. "But being true to your path may not win the Exile."

The Disciple nods. Silence stretches for a minute, then two, but I wait. Tonight, it feels like I have the wisdom of the Echani masters, able to see what actions I need to take to guide this encounter to its proper place.

"I must admit that I'm not entirely sure what I feel for the Exile now," he says finally. "She has changed so much."

"Has she?" I respond curtly. There is a touch of sadness in his eyes, but little else that reveals how he feels. _If he no longer loves her, why all the worry? _"And are those changes deep, within her soul and heart, or on the surface?"

Leaning back in my chair, I marvel again at this unexpected confidence that fills me tonight, even as I continue. "The Exile I see seems to be true to one you described before. She's older, but though I know many men would disagree, I would say the scars of age, war, and pain she bears make her more beautiful, not less. Is it her anger that causes doubt in you? Do you miss how often she cooks for us and talks with us when we seem uneasy? Does her strange choice to cover herself with jewellery stop your gaze before it sees anything else? If so, you are less wise than I thought. "

The Disciple looks thoughtful, stroking his chin and staring off to his left. "Everything you say is true," he says after a few minutes, "and yet she stills seems different to me."

"Perhaps it is you that has changed, and not the Exile."

The Disciple nods, still staring off into the distance. As the silence grows again, I join him, watching the people who walk by the restaurant. This planet is clearly a mixing pot of all races and peoples. Rich Cathar merchants wearing light, filmy, synth-silk robes walk hand-in-hand past a trio of tired Biths, their instruments in cases strung over their backs. Three attractive females, an Echani, a Cathar, and an older Twi'lek, stroll together with a far less attractive male Twi'lek who limps and sports a lame lekku. The four stop to shop at a shop at the opposite side of our small square and run by a Rodian merchant. After some playful bargaining, the male Twi'lek hands an Ullian Veiled Rose, a stunning and very expensive blue and white flower, to the Twi'lek lady, and two less expensive green flowers to the other two. The deep kiss that the purple Twi'lek woman gives to the man confirms my suspicion that they are lovers, though I wonder whether it's his pocketbook that she admires. As the quartet move away, I wonder if they realize that they are being tailed by six Aqualish thugs.

----------------------------

**Toxel. On Yuthura Ban's ship, **_**The Bent Lekku**_

I pull myself out of the memories. _The Last Handmaiden saw Yuthura on Nar Shaddaa._ _What kind of coincidence is that?_

It's hard to associate the laughing, happy woman the Echani saw with the hard Sith who is bringing the unconscious Atris and I to the Exchange now. The physical resemblance is strong, even though the woman in the ship now is over ten years older, but this older, lightsabre-wielding version of her seems too tough to be the laughing woman with the flower. Despite what the Handmaiden thought, it was clear to me that the two Twi'lek were in love.

It was easy for me to see how Yuthura Ban the Sith became an Exchange thug, but I'm finding it hard to imagine the Sith or the criminal being the carefree person laughing with and kissing her male companion in the Handmaiden's past. It's clear that there's much more to the Twi'lek's story, and I wish I could talk to Bastila to find out more about the one whose ship now carries me to Nar Shaddaa. But I can't; not yet, at least.

Sighing, I pull the Last Handmaiden's robes to me again.

----------------------------

**The Last Handmaiden (Nar Shaddaa)  
**

"Visas is right," the Disciple says, pulling me away from my study of the crowd. "I should show the Exile what she taught me so long ago."

My arms cross reflexively across my chest, and I reprimand myself, disturbed by how easily I reveal the uncertainty that the mere mention of the Miraluka instills in me. "I concur, though I still do not trust the Sith's intentions."

"Mmm… mistrust does seem the obvious choice, especially given that she does not forswear being a Sith. Until now, I have agreed with your opinion about Visas and it is likely that I will agree with you again in the future. And yet…" he pauses, his eyebrows coming together, "tonight I have discovered so much that is surprising to me. Your words have shown me that perhaps the Exile is more, rather than less, than she used to be, and that you are certainly wiser than I had understood. Even your silent presence seems to have opened my eyes in new ways. This poor, jaded, frenetic, corrupt city," he shakes his head, "I have never liked it but now I now see beauty in it because of our walk tonight. And all these things I've discovered today makes me wonder, how might the Miraluka surprise us if we give her the opportunity?"

"That last piece of wisdom," I snap, "is certainly not from me." The Disciple raises both his eyebrows at me, and this time it is he that waits for me. I sigh. "But your point is not without merit. Fine, scholar, I will stop my war with the Miraluka. But I will always keep an eye on her."

The Disciple nods gracefully, then glances at his watch. "I think it's time we got back," he says.

"Agreed." The scholar tries to pay for the meal, but gives in quickly when I insist that I will pay half. After that, we walk back to the ship, silent but without the magic of our earlier stroll. I can't help wondering if that's because we don't hold hands this time. I think about grabbing his, but somehow, I don't want to anymore.

The lights in the ship are all out when we arrive, and the only noise in the ship is the sound of quiet breathing and the whirring of the T3 droid as it works on repairs in the garage.

"I guess I'll talk to the Exile in the morning," the Disciple says, turning to me. "Thank you for a wonderful evening," he continues, and to my surprise he leans forward and plants a light, polite kiss to my right cheek.

"Goodnight," I reply, half dazed. As he walks away towards the medical bay, I can't help putting a hand to my cheek. No man has ever kissed me before.

As I undress in the cargo bay, and then lay out my sleeping mat, I think about the evening, trying to understand all that has happened, between the Disciple and I, and within myself. No answers come, though; my thoughts whirl without end in the cold silence of my room.

_I'll never sleep like this. _

Pushing my sleeping mat to one side, I begin a series of light warm-up exercises, hoping that they will help me clear my thoughts. I'm just finishing the second tier when I hear the muffled clang of approaching footsteps. Turning, I see the Exile's head peeking around the corner.

"Did you have a nice dinner?" she asks, her voice soft and a small smile on her face.

"Yes," I answer bluntly. The Exile's hair is pulled back in her usual loose ponytail and the long, loose black shirt that hangs to her mid-thighs is the one she wears for sleeping. I suspect she wears nothing else save for the incredible variety of jewellery she never seems to take off. I still wonder some times how she sleeps with it all on. _Maybe that's why she's not sleeping now._

The Exile has said nothing, and I realize that she's waiting for me to say more. _Father, you never told me that social interactions required training and skills too._ Trying to soften my voice, I continue, "The scholar and I had an enjoyable walk to the nearby shopping district, where we ate dinner. The food was certainly acceptable."

"I think you made the right decision, then. The stew today was quite bland." She pauses, and to my surprise it's now the Exile who seems to feel awkward. "What are you doing?" she asks after a few moments, then blushes. "I'm sorry, that's a silly question. You're training." She regards me for a few moments. "Don't you ever tire of it?"

"No," I say bluntly, before remembering to temper my words. "Without training, I will never excel. And you? Do you ever tire of the constant training, and the lessons with Kreia?"

"Yes, I do," the Exile sighs. "But I can't stop, not now. Too much is at stake."

"And what would you do if the Sith did not threaten us? Would you stop fighting then, and give up your training?"

"Yes…" she starts to say, but then her shoulders and back slump. "No, but it's not for the same reasons as you. Someone took something very valuable from me, and I intend to get it back."

"I'm sorry," I say, and the Exile shrugs, turning her gaze away but not before I can see the despair there. There seems to be so much that is wounded in the former Jedi, so much pain and sorrow behind the thin mask of friendliness and caring she wears. She reminds me of my father.

"I could not sleep," I continue, offering her what kindness I can. "I'm doing some warm up drills to calm my mind."

"Can I join you?" she asks, her voice uncertain.

"That would be acceptable." When she hesitates, I add. "Please come in."

"Thank you," she says, entering the room.

I nod, then begin the exercises again. The Exile doesn't join me as I expect, just watches me.

"Do you always practice this late?" she asks after a while. I'm annoyed that she has interrupted me a second time, especially for a question that I think I've answered already but I push the anger down. _She doesn't know our customs_, I tell myself, _and so doesn't know how rude she is being_.

"No. The Echani believe in going to bed early so that we can practice early in the morning."

"Mmm…" Xi Lan grunts. She opens her mouth a couple times after that, but she doesn't say anything. There's a sense of unease about her that seems to be slowly revealing itself, a restlessness that rustles within her eyes.

"There is something the Disciple and I would like to show you," I say impulsively.

"Oh no, please don't wake—" she says quickly, backing up a step.

"It's okay," I cut across her protest. "Please, it's important. I'll go get him. Just wait here." Before she can protest more, I walk out of the room.

The Disciple opens his door almost immediately; like me, I guess, he wasn't ready to sleep. His face flushes almost immediately, and I realize that I've forgotten to put my robes on over my underwear. It's something I've been trying to remember to do in respect of the cultures of those on the ship.

_Well, it's such a small thing to be so shy about anyway._

Perhaps he isn't ready to show the Exile the techniques he's been demonstrating me, either, but I grab his arm before he can hesitate and pull him gently down the corridor and into the cargo bay.

"The Disciple," I say as soon as we enter the room, "has been introducing me to some training techniques that we both agree you should see. Can you move over there," I point towards the far corner of the room.

The Exile nods and moves towards the area I indicated. The Disciple watches her intensely as she sits down on the ground and pushes her shirt between her thighs before drawing her knees up into her arms. The shirt shifts as she adjusts her position to get comfortable, revealing that she wears nothing underneath. The scholar's face flushes again, and he turns away. I'm not sure if the Exile notices his reaction or not, but she doesn't reposition her clothes.

_I will never understand why so many people lose their focus around something so simple as a naked body. _Being too shy or too aggressive, both reactions to the exposed flesh of an opponent are distractions no warrior can afford. I've always practiced clothed with the Disciple but now, seeing his undisciplined reaction again, I'm suddenly glad that I'm already in my underwear. It's time for the scholar to learn something from me as well.

"Let's start," I say. The Disciple looks at me, surprised. "The Echani generally practice without clothes," I continue blandly.

"I have read about that," the Disciple says softly, "though I've always wondered whether that was wise. I've also read in Mandalorian texts that practicing in one's armour is essential for understanding how it restricts movement."

I think about his point for a moment. "The argument has merit, but practicing like this is not only about freedom of movement. It's also about a focus on the body. A warrior needs to know how it moves, observing the body of her opponent and her own until she knows it intimately. She—"

"Armour, clothes, and all the other trappings that we wear during the day," the Exile interrupts quietly, her voice formal in tone as if she is reciting something, "they make it easy to forget the most essential understanding. We are nothing more than a focused point of energy in the universe's pattern. To understand the world, and yourself, all illusions of disconnection and separateness must be put aside…" the Exile's voice trails off.

She looks at me, then the Disciple. "Sorry for interrupting. I find myself a bit self-absorbed tonight."

"What you said," I say, "is certainly not Echani. Is it…" I pause, hearing Atris' voice in my ear, her voice cold and piercing as she warns my half-sisters and me about the dangers of the Jedi's faulty teachings. But the hunger for knowledge within me is impossible to ignore. "Is it a Jedi teaching?"

"No, it's from my past, some part of how I was trained by the people of my own world." As the small dark woman continues talking in her quiet, the Disciple's eyes are glued to her I notice the intensity in the Disciple eyes and stance as he listens. _Is it the scholar that battles ignorance or something else?_

As the Exile continues, her frustration is carved into every bitter word that follows. "It's a small bit of what I used to know, a piece of flotsam washed up from a sea of knowledge I can no longer recall…" Her voice sharpens as she continues, "And you're both going to remind me of something tonight, aren't you?" The Exile stands up swiftly, and her kind eyes become like the polished durasteel of a blade as she approaches us. "Begin," she snaps.

The Disciple opens his mouth, to start explaining I think, but the Exile stops him before he can begin. "Don't tell me, just do it," she snaps.

The Disciple lets out a slow, deep breath, then bows slightly towards me, something he always does before we practice. I nod back and we begin.

The Disciple starts, throwing a punch at my torso in painfully slow motion. I step back from it, also slowly, though quicker than I'm supposed to. Willing myself to slow down, I catch my hand, reaching for the scholar's fist, intending to pull him off balance into a kick. He doesn't resist as I tug him, stepping forward easily instead. I'm not well balanced for a kick, so I slowly bend down, evading the Disciple's punch at my head as I grab at and miss his knee.

It takes a while for the blond scholar and I to settle into the rhythm, but slowly I find my senses expanding in the same way they did during the day's early session. I start to see life that fills in the space between the Disciple and I. New to my experience, though, is what I see around the Exile. It's like this life I've been starting to see is much denser around her, and yet there is this uneasiness, a subtle and unhealthy vibration that shivers through all that comes close to her, and threatens to tear it apart.

Distracted by this new sight, I start to lose my concentration but then, to my surprise, I hear Xi Lan's whisper in my ear. "Let go. The dance is not yours, nor his, it belongs to life, let it come forth…" More words follow, and it seems so natural somehow that the Exile we had thought to teach now leads me deeper and deeper into an extraordinary awareness of life and its stunning beauty. I, no we, the Exile and her Disciples… there's a shimmering, thought-thin bubble that surrounds us, and outside it is mystery, a realm of colour, music, and understanding that even through the distortion of the bubble's walls is clearly more extraordinary than anything I've ever seen. It's something we are mirroring, though like the simplest practice strike mirrors the art of combat… I reach out, straining when the other parts of me do not follow, yearning to break through the barrier and touch—

"Stop," the Exile barks out and the dream shatters, leaving me once again stunned, blinking helplessly in the ship's cold light. "That is…" she continues hesitantly, "too fast, too easy…" she says again quietly, and I'm not sure if she knows we are there anymore. "You should not be so advanced, can not be. You are doing what requires years of training…" The Exile sinks slowly to the floor, until she is almost a ball sitting on the floor, her face covered by her long hands. "I don't remember that training," she whispers harshly, "and yet I know it as I do my own body. Why must others show me what is mine? Why does everything I once knew now come only when it choose to? Where is it all hiding?"

The Disciple and I glance at each other. His face showing his concerned, he raises his eyebrows, and I shrug in return. We wait for a while, perhaps a few minutes, but the Exile stays on the floor, her head still buried in her hands. Finally, the Disciple clears his throat quietly. "Is there anything we can do?" Silence greets him, and he looks at me, his eyebrow raised.

I have no training for a situation like this. I know discipline, training, and combat as the way towards self-understanding and purpose. I know how to be strong, stoic, and steadfast in the face of adversity. But to comfort another? To reach out and strengthen one who falters? These are not skills that my half-sisters or I have. The only Echani I knew who had them was my father, and I have always dismissed them as mere tools he used in his war of words and hearts. Now, I wonder if I have been wrong. I find myself divided: to comfort the Exile, though I don't know how, or to walk away, dismissing her because she is weak._ And why was I willing to do it for the Disciple but now I hesitate? Is it because she's our leader?_

As we stand there, the Disciple and I, unsure of what to do, another acts instead. A flash of red and black robes, then a blind woman kneels in front of the Exile, her surprisingly bare, pale hand reaching out to touch Xi Lan's fingers. "I feel your pain," Visas' husky voice says slowly, "and I know it well." The compassion in the Sith's voice strikes me to the core, the contrast between it and my own inaction cutting deeper than the sharpest vibrosword.

"You seek knowledge, Exile," Visas continues, "and that is important. But know that the answers you seek are not found here nor here," she says touching the top of the Exile's bowed head, then her heart. "They are deeper within you, and beyond you, and they require nothing but that you trust yourself despite the doubts in your head and the fears in your heart."

"I'm so tired," the Xi Lan gasps, "of not knowing who I am and being weak when once I was—"

"No," Visas cuts across the Exile's words, stilling them. "It is not weakness that you fear, but power. Whatever you could do before pales before that which I see within you now."

The Exile looks up, her cheeks soaked with tears. "But that power can only destroy and if I ever let it go, I do not know how many I will kill."

"That too, is but a part of your power. Where you see the hungering darkness within, I see the shining web that restrains it. Where you see yourself as alone, I see the ties that bind you to this crew and to so many others that you have touched. My master is a destroyer, but you… I do not understand what is growing in you and around you, but it gives me hope. Know this, Exile," Visas continues, her voice lower, her words filled with a tangible commitment so thick that I can almost feel their weight. "I will die for you, because you are beautiful to me and because in you, I see the hope for life and the Force."

"Do you know what you are asking of me?" Xi Lan whispers, her expression bleak.

"Everything you have," Visas breathes, "and that is what I offer to you now."

Finally, the Exile looks up, stares into Visas' face, her eyes moving from point to point as if seeking a purchase on the Miraluka's veiled face. I do not know if she finds it, but suddenly she pulls the Miraluka into fierce hug. "Thank you."

"Do not thank me, Exile," Visas says softly, her arms tentatively going around the Exile's shoulders, surprising me again. "Your path only grows darker from here."

"Thank you," Xi Lan says again, squeezing tighter.

They rest there for a short while, then Xi Lan gently pushes the Miraluka away. Though the Exile's face is shiny with spent tears, she ignores them as she stands. Visas stand with her, her hand stealing out, almost against its will, touching the Exile's arm but briefly with a hesitant tenderness that disarms me. Then, the blind Sith snaps around and strides quickly out of the room, not sparing a glance for the Disciple and I who have not moved since this drama began.

"Where did you learn this?" the Exile says quietly, pulling the blond scholar and my attention from the retreating Visas.

I don't say anything; this is the Disciple's moment. Besides, I want to see if he's up to the task.

As is she senses my decision, the Exile's gaze moves to the Disciple, who starts speaking immediately, though hesitantly. "I first learned a bit of it from watching you train others at the academy on Dantooine. Later, you taught me and others using this technique on Kkakala III. I was one of the few Padawans selected for advanced training with you for that session. I came with Master Zhar's party."

She frowns as she considers the Disciple. "Mical…" the Exile says finally. "Your name was Mical. You were one of only a few who attended each one of my different training sessions. And you… you told me… No, that's not right. Someone else did. You wanted…" The Exile hesitates, then her gaze sharpens again and her voice is exacerbated when she continues. "How in the world did you find out about Yondma Major?"

The Disciple starts, then looks guilty. I've never seen the scholar exhibit so much emotion as he has in this one day. "I'm good with numbers, so the Masters assigned me to assist in the pay section during my early training on Dantooine. I saw that you had diverted your pay to a number of unknown people and, well… made some inquiries." Turning towards me, the Disciple explains. "I discovered that the Exile… sorry," he nods at the dark haired woman, "that Xi Lan had diverted her pay to a number of people on Yondma Major. After that, I talked to some of those people and discovered that they were slaves she had rescued. I discovered that Xi Lan had eliminated a gang of approximately twenty slavers without her lightsabre to free them."

"It was luck," the Exile says quickly, almost automatically.

"No, it wasn't," the Disciple responds, surprisingly forcefully. Turning back to me, the Disciple continues, "Perhaps you are already aware that Xi Lan was one of the premiere instructors among the Jedi, and that she was counted among its foremost fighters." He turns back to the Exile, and his stance grows in determination. "You taught us the ways of combat, how to hear music within the movements of a lightsabre blade and how to move within the Force and see it flow within others."

"There were many knowledgeable instructors among the Jedi," Xi Lan responds, her face is a bit red, her eyes uncertain.

"Yes, but you were different. We could all feel it. The Padawans talked about it a lot, and we struggled to find some way to explain the difference between you and other Masters such as Master Vrook. My theory was that while Vrook and the others were knowledgeable, they were not leaders, nor mentors. They knew the Code, but not the people to whom they taught it, nor the people they were supposed to protect."

"But I don't understand people at all…" I wonder why Xi Lan is so determined to deny the Disciple's praise.

The Disciple leans forward, and I can feel him willing the Exile to believe his words. "I never felt the Force as strongly as I did when I was with you. And many other students said the same thing. There was something about your training that awakened us to the life and the Force in ways that no other Master could achieve." The blond scholar pauses for a moment, and there is a subtle change in his stance, a settling, that speaks of commitment.

"I knew," he continues, speaking quietly and yet with clear passion, "after Kkakala III that if I were to have a Master, I would want it to be you. And then you went to war. I knew at that moment, that if you would no longer be a Jedi, then you must be correct. I realized I did not want to be a Jedi; instead, I wished to follow your path."

"But I'm still not sure if what I did was right." Xi Lan says, her arms now folded across her chest. "I never meant to turn anyone away from the Jedi Order. I always believed in being a Jedi. I went to war because I believed that being a Jedi meant protecting others, not because I wanted to leave the Order."

"And that is why many wanted to follow Revan, Malak and you, Xi Lan. And perhaps that is why the Order proclaimed that all the Masters, Knights, and Padawans that went to war were no longer Jedi." The Disciple catches my eye, then says. "Atris, your mistress, was first among them." Turning back to the Exile, he continues. "I believed it was a choice between serving the Republic, or the Masters. I decided to serve the Republic, even though I was unsure if it was the right path. I decided, in the end, that it would be better to be wrong when acting compassionately rather than knowledgeably."

"I'm sorry I forced that choice upon you."

"Better to choose," I interrupt, "and be wrong, than to follow a path blindly."

Xi Lan and the Disciple both nod. Seeing the blond scholar agreeing with her, Xi Lan sighs. "Okay, Mical. I should be asking you questions about why you lied and all that, but I'm too worn out. And frankly, this ship is so thick with lies, if I tried sorting them out, I would never…" She stops and rubs her temples. "Frack, I'm tired. Look, would you both be willing to keep doing this…" she pauses and her gaze turns inwards. "This Gliding Hand technique," she says finally, nodding to herself. "Practice with me, please?"

"Okay," I say. I could not refuse her anything right now. The Disciple nods silently in agreement. Not another word is said as we practice, sometimes the Disciple leading, sometimes the Exile when she remembers something. We don't stop until the morning breaks.

----------------------------

**Toxel. On Yuthura's ship, _The Bent Lekku_  
**

As I pull myself from the Last Handmaiden's experiences, I marvel at the density of relationships and connections that seems to be growing on the _Ebon Hawk_. The triangle between my mother, Bao-Dur, and Atton. The Last Handmaiden and the Disciple. Visas, Kreia, and my mother. Visas and my mother.

_Heck, I suppose, my mother and everyone. I need to think about… No, I've been doing too much thinking. I need to let my instincts help me._

Sitting down on the floor, I cross my legs into the mediation posture and let the knees settle towards the floor. I breathe deep, focusing on the words, images, scents, and other sensations my body and mind feed me. Then, slowly, slowly, I move away from them until I see they are like a stream in the distance, an inconsequential though pleasant murmur that fades into the distance until all that is left is a comfortable, warm and silent darkness.

I see the _Ebon Hawk_, but everything is strangely lit, coloured by eddies of thick, tangible Force, as if I was seeing through Visas' eyes. Without conscious direction, I move down the corridors of the silent ship, moving from empty room to empty room. And yet, though there is no person on the ship, I begin to see thinner lines of blue-green Force traversing the ship. These lines are taut, and they hum with almost tangible purpose compared to the heavier, lazier whorls through which they cut. Every moment I watch these straight lines, they seem to grow thicker, richer, more alive.

I turn to follow a line, flowing through the walls until I reach the cargo bay. This time, I see a white, mountain of ice, but smoothed out, rounded, as if it was slowly melting, forming into something less angular, unapproachable.

The Handmaiden. Another line beckons, and my consciousness follows it to warm, slightly musty feel of the Disciple, like one of those old book libraries. And so I keep passing from room to room in the ship, seeing nothing but feeling each of the crew through the Force. Sensing, as I touch each one, how tightly bound each being is to others in the crew, and seeing how they are growing, changing in ways that brings the Force closer to them, and a touch of Al'keh too.

Then everything blurs, as if I'm moving at tremendous speeds until suddenly a new image bursts into my mind, from a time much more recent, just a day ago. A small, white figure stands on the ground below my straining ship, somehow holding in place beyond all reason. Her body melts away, and I see her through the Force, like I did yesterday. She shines, brighter than Revan or Bastila ever did, her power so incandescent she is almost impossible to look at. Behind the blaze, though, are thin filaments, perhaps ten in number, that stretch from Atris to places I can not see. Through them, I see pulses of red-white power flow like into Atris, sustaining her impossible effort. Then the flow of power stops, and Atris collapses, but I do not see her body touch the ground.

Again, the world around me blurs, this time with darker streaks. A wet, dank smell proceeds the darkness I enter. Nothing stirs in the rough stone cave corridor I'm in; the only sign of movement is the dripping sound of water falling from stalacites, stone icicles that cling to the roof above.

A glint of light at the corner of my eye reveals a small object lying on the ground. My vision shifts, and suddenly a single earring fills my vision. It is a gold dagger, sharp, with little rubies lining its edge like freshly shed blood. But I barely notice, for around the beautiful trinket, I see hundreds of thought-thin threads stretching beyond sight.

My eyes fly open. The cold, grey metal walls of _The Bent Lekku _are so dull that, for a second, I think I'm still back in the cave. But the thoughts that flood my mind, the growing wonder and fear, they are not so plain.

My mother's jewellery. Kreia's restored connection to the Force. The Last Handmaiden stretching towards the Force through my mother's training techniques. My mother's ability to use the Force, however sporadically, when the Force can not touch her.

_Force bonds._ _The filaments of power I saw tethered to Atris' spirit and the ones that connect the crew of the Ebon Hawk, they are Force bonds? Does that explain how Atris was able to be so powerful on Dantooine and how the enemies Revan sought eluded him?_

I search my memory for what I remember about the figure I had seen in the assassin's memories. That being had been powerful, but not on the scale of Revan and Bastila. There was nothing about that person's Force aura that had explained how she or he or it had been able to avoid Revan and Bastila's determined search.

But if that person could draw upon the strength of several or even many Force users of equal strength…

_Revan and Bastila taught me that full-fledged Force bonds could make the connected people slightly stronger and more able to resist attack. They also told me that Force bonds grow between a master and an apprentice, or two very close friends, but they never mentioned the possibility of connections being formed between a larger group. Just how formidable could a team of Jedi who were closely bonded become, especially if they could not only support each other but coordinate their attacks?_

The possibility, however unknown seems possible. My mother as a trainer had always emphasized group teamwork because it was much more powerful than individual heroics. But something doesn't seem right, and the reason comes without thought.

_What would such a group have to fear from one such as I? If there were enough of them, they could even withstand Revan and Bastila combined. So why did they bother hiding themselves for so many years, and why come out now? What am I doing that spurred them to action when Revan and Bastila's efforts did not?_

An image slowly grows in my mind, one of aching familiarity. A darkness, a howling emptiness, a hunger that doesn't belong in this existence of life, time, and memory. Around it, tens of thousands of lights, flickering souls, connected by a glimmering, fragile web.

_How much power would have to be harnessed to keep the impossible contained? Tens of thousands of souls ripped from their bodies at Malachor V, neither dead or alive. Would that be enough? _

_And if not them, if those souls were completely devoted to keeping Al'keh in check, then what about just seven Force-users or so? Kreia, Visas, Bao-Dur, Atton, the Disciple, the Last Handmaiden, and my mother. They were also bonded through my mother's ability. Were they becoming strong enough to match the power of those who hunt us?_

None of it seems plausible, but it doesn't have to be. If there is a cabal of bonded Force-users silently gaining power in the middle of the Republic, what was unlikely but possible would be enough to act.

_But that still doesn't answer the question. Why do they act against me? And why not just kill me if they truly have such power? What are they scared of?_

So many questions, and so few clues. I've already taken as much as I can from the belongings I've collected and I still have no clue how to enter the Telos Academy. As for guides, though my instincts tell me to trust Yuthura, I can't help thinking about how those same instincts failed with Atris. I need help.

I don't realize I've left my room until I tell Yuthura, "We need to contact Revan and Bastila."

Yuthura sighs. "Are you sure? I don't fancy explaining my current profession to my 'saviours,' if you know what I mean, especially if they think that I'm the one who 'kidnapped' you. They might just snuff me out before asking any questions."

"I think I'm in way over my head, and I suspect the Exchange is too."

"And why is that, Toxel?" she asks, her eyes searching mine. "The Exchange is not some ordinary organization."

"It's not about numbers or strength. It's about the impossible. And I think you know that already. If not, well… you'll have to trust me." I know the smile I give her is grim.

"So we were right," she says quietly, half to herself. Her voice grows more firm as she continues. "I'll trust you, Toxel. The comm is on that panel there. Just make sure that you tell Bastila and Revan that we're on the same team, okay?"

I nod, and then start typing my message. "Where should I tell them to meet us?" I ask when I'm almost finished.

"Here, let me." Yuthura says, leaning over and punching a location into my message.

I finish the message and then send it to the four holoweb addresses that Revan gave me for emergencies.

It seems like a small thing to do in the face of my revelations and questions, but for all that I search my mind, I can think of nothing else I can do. All that I learn is that I'm exhausted, confused, and very, very scared.

* * *

**A/N:** There should be (just) enough here to give insight into Yuthura's current character, at least as Toxel knows it. However, if you have any interest in knowing more about what happened to Yuthura after Revan and Korriban, including how she joined the Exchange, see my story "Yuthura's Gizka." 


	11. Chapter 11

**I WILL LIVE: PATTERNS OF BETRAYAL AND REDEMPTION III Chapter 11**

----------------------------

**A/N: **

...+ Yes, it has been a LONG TIME since my last chapter. This one's still a bit rough, but I figured I'd better get it out there before another year passes :(

…+ Many thanks to Trillian who, remarkably, is still willing to beta this stuff despite the many years, her growing child, and new writing projects she has going on. It's wonderful to have someone give feedback on a draft piece, especially one with a keen writer's eye who tells it as she sees it.

----------------------------

**Toxel (on the way to Nar Shaddaa)**

From Dantooine, the trip to Nar Shaddaa is not a short one. There is no direct route between the two planets. We had to fly first to a remote station, RS 100-78-9665, where we picked up fuel before making the second jump towards Nar Shaddaa. Now, we're about a day away from the Smuggler's Moon.

For five quiet days now, I've been trying to think my way through the large number of new and old problems that I'm facing. I'm no closer to any answers.

It's overwhelming how much I don't know, and how much I have to figure out soon. What I thought was going to be a simple, though likely unsuccessful adventure to determine my mother's fate, has become more complex. Much more.

Atris. Who is she? What is she? Did she betray me? Did she love me? Why did she approach me, entice me to seek my mother when it seemed those behind her opposed my efforts? Or did something happen to change the minds of Atris' compatriots?

"What was the plan?" I ask Atris' motionless body. "And why did you let me in, deceive me like you did? I would have followed you without it." Atris doesn't respond. My too-intriguing betrayer has not moved from the bunk where we placed her body. I can still feel the awful waves of disorientation passing through her body from the force collar.

And then there is Yuthura. The Twi'lek is another incomprehensible and too-powerful woman, and she if full of contradictions. The air around her seems to shimmer in dark power and her face is etched with lines of bitterness and sorrow, and darkly illuminated by the crawling tattoos of the Sith. And yet, there is a core of peace within her that belies her fearsome visage, and makes me believe her claim that she is ex-Sith.

Yuthura reminds me a little of Bastila, though with far less power. Both are marked by scars of anger, hate, and desperation. Both of them have made the darkness part of them, fusing it somehow with their passions and hopes. And each shows that fusion to the outside world, refusing to hide what they are. For Bastila, it's the deadly red blade that Revan gave her during the brief time she was a Sith. For Yuthura, it's the winding tattoos on her face.

And yet, how could the Twi'lek have made this transformation as a member of the Exchange? Bastila's redemption was, is, founded on Revan, Tatooine, and me.

Still, even if Yuthura truly is ex-Sith, I'm still not comfortable with the Exchange's proposal. Until the events on Dantooine, my journey had been merely personal: the search for a woman forgotten by all save her son and the few who escaped from Malachor V. And yet, now it seems that my quest has become something much more, with the dubious Exchange offering a haven from, I sense, an even more dangerous foe.

These Force users who seek me now, their power is not the angry hunger of the dark Sith I have felt through my Mother. Instead, it is like a shadow within the darkness, something you can never see, but know is there. When I search the Force for inspiration about my new foes, images appear in mind of black spiders eternally spinning webs that stretch everywhere unseen, touching everything and snaring remorselessly any who venture too near.

"Toxel, come here," Yuthura shouts from the cockpit of _The Bent Lekku_. There's a note of urgency in her voice.

"…you will need to implement X76H," a hard, grating metallic voice says on the ship's comm as I arrive. "My assets are under attack and my personal ship has already been lost. Do not try to assist. No doubt our foes are already beginning to track this transmission. While I doubt they will be able to break my code, it is ninety-eight percent probable that they will be waiting for you when you leave hyperspace. You must jump immediately after you enter normal space."

"Understood," Yuthura says calmly. "I will proceed as planned. Have you determined the source or identity of the attackers?"

"Besides everyone?" the voice drawls. "Whoever they are, they have unexpected influence. Not only are the Hutts involved, but also several of the larger smuggling operations, the security of two major and four minor corporations, some elite assassins whose source I have not yet determined, and even the Republic police. There are… more attackers than I anticipated, but they will find that it is easier to start a war with the Exchange than finish it. My current calculations attribute a fifty-seven percent probability that our foe is centred in Czerka Corporation."

"You still underestimate the power of the Force, Goto," Yuthura responds. "Our attackers would never make themselves so obvious. They're too good at hiding not to mask themselves behind others."

"Such an approach would forgo the flexibility that direct command brings. Doing it your way means committing their forces to one plan, because it would be difficult for them to adjust its execution according to field data if they are not in positions of leadership."

"True," Yuthura shrugs, "but if the plan fails it will be others facing the consequences. These are people who are used to being patient. The question we need to be asking ourselves is why this group is attacking us so boldly in the first place?"

"And your theory…?"

She pauses, stroking the gizka that's somehow appeared on her lap.

"Well, I… this is more of an extrapolation, but I don't think this is about power or a plan anymore. They must be scared of something. Something…" she turns to consider me, "new. And I'm not sure what it would be, since they seem to be stronger than Bastila and Revan combined, but I wonder if it's related to Toxel or his quest."

"This would explain, perhaps, why they attacked him. It does not explain Atris' rescue of young Toxel."

Yuthura looks at me, her eyebrow upraised, her eyes knowing. My face hot, I turn my gaze away.

Yuthura continues to look at me as she speaks. "There are several plausible reasons for Atris' behaviour. I'm sure your databanks can provide them. But this is immaterial, as you know Goto. You will pursue your investigations into all possibilities whatever I say here. So why don't you direct your attention to surviving."

"Once again you assign your human emotions to me. I find this insistence of yours very peculiar."

"You take care too, Goto." Then, to my surprise, she grins. "Good luck."

"Luck? How quaint," Goto drawls.

Yuthura shuts the comm and turns to me. "Well, it seems that we'll have to change our plans."

"Goto anticipated this attack? You're being attacked because of me?"

"I do not think he really believed something would happen anywhere on this scale, but Goto always considers every possibility and prepares for them. Though we will take some significant losses, I'm sure we'll weather the storm. Goto's very thorough."

"So what now?" I ask.

"The number Goto gave me is for a particular set of hyperspace jumps. Once we arrive, Goto will find a way to contact us."

"And if he's killed in the attacks?"

"That, Toxel," she smiles mischievously, "is highly unlikely. Goto is hard to kill." The Sith pauses, and her eyes measure me before she continues. "Goto gave me permission to tell you something, should our operations be attacked before he could meet you. He said…" The Twi'lek clears her throat and then continues in a lower, grating voice mimicking her employer, "Tell the organic Toxel the truth if you think it will help. I know you organics often value such revelations as a means of establishing trust. Tell him I hope he will consider it as such, though I acknowledge that the threat posed by our common enemies drives my decision as well." The purple Twi'lek changes back into her normal voice, her eyes now twinkling, "Goto's a vain, pompous windbag and he likes to talk about how clever he is, but he is trying to gain your trust as well."

I nod slightly, and Yuthura continues. "Unlike our 'primitive' minds, Goto's consciousness is not contained within one body. Goto is a droid and he has distributed his mind over a network containing several hundred major nodes and countless minor ones. All that includes multiple redundancies, of course. So unless our attackers can find, say, at least fifty secret locations scattered across the galaxy, Goto should survive intact. And that's very unlikely because Goto is the only person who knows about most of them."

I think about that for a moment. The idea of a droid in charge of a significant portion of crime in the galaxy seems incredible, but then so does everything else I've encountered recently. "Even if he… it survives, how will it help me?"

"Yes, that's true," Yuthura sighs. She starts to pull absently on one of her lekku as she continues. "Given the forces arrayed against us now, it will probably take a decade or so before Goto regains his pre-eminence in the underworld." The words she mutters next are so quiet, I'm not sure if I'm hearing them or picking them up from her mind. "Maybe a year or two longer since I won't be helping him this time." I stay silent, unsure whether I'm supposed to have heard the words, and after a moment, Yuthura continues in her normal voice. "Anyway, you don't need an army, do you Toxel?"

"No, I guess that's true. So, what help can the Exchange offer me?"

"A place to hide, to start. More importantly, information. There's someone Goto thought you should meet. If he's still alive, he will be waiting for us at our destination."

"Who's the person?"

"Goto didn't tell me," she shrugs.

I sigh. _Once again, I'm bouncing around the galaxy searching for the crumbs others have deigned to leave me._

"I've gotten used to it… mostly." Yuthura says. "We'll exit hyperspace in about a day. We'll probably have a cannock swarm of nasties waiting for us, so we can't stick around for very long. Luckily, we'll be able to jump right away using our next coordinates. After that, I'm afraid we've got about ten days more in hyperspace before we arrive at our destination, so I hope you have something that can keep you occupied."

I want to be angry at Yuthura, to sweep aside these feelings of helplessness and vulnerability. But, I can't. I can sense Yuthura's understanding, her sympathy, despite the calm face she's putting on. And Revan has taught me too well.

I breathe deeply, imagine the harsh winds of Tatooine stripping away my boiling emotions. It is a meditation that I learned from Bastila, one that I had practiced with her near our home until I could call the feeling to my mind any time I wished. I feel my shoulders and stomach relax, unclench.

"Tatooine," Yuthura says, smiling gently.

"What?" I had forgotten the Sith in my impromptu meditation, and her voice jars me back to the harsh glare of the ship's lighting and dull, durasteel walls. "How did you… Of course, you were there."

"That Force forsaken place saved me, Toxel. Bastila too."

I pause, wondering what I should say. Is Yuthura friend or foe? She's a bewildering mix of hard edges and surprising approachability. Though I sense no threat from her, the revelations regarding Atris have shaken my confidence in my ability to read people. I must beware easy trust.

"I need to do something." Yuthura nods as I turn away.

Unfortunately, "doing something" is not that easy, especially when I knew that enemy ships would be waiting at the end of our jump. I don't have anything left to study, and with all that's happened recently, it never occurred to me to bring some entertainment. I've gotten all I can from the items other have left me, and there is not much more for me to write, save for the events of this last half-hour. I've also discovered over the last few days that _The Bent Lekku_ lacks a holovid station or holodisc library, unless Yuthura has a secret stash somewhere in her room.

"Toxel," Yuthura says, knocking on my open door, her voice softer than usual. "Can I ask you a question?" I nod, and she continues, indicating my lightsabres with a flick of her head. "Those are your mother's, right?"

I nod and Yuthura smirks briefly. "I sent a picture of you to Goto," she continues, "after we left Dantooine. Goto recognized them."

"He did…"

"Goto spent some time with your mother. Apparently, he arranged to kidnap her because he had this crazy idea that getting rid of the Jedi would stop the wars. And then she got away, blowing up his ship as she did. But he also got one of his bodies—a chassis he would say—on the ship too and somehow they ended up traveling together. And no, I don't know anything more," she adds when I open my mouth.

Sighing again, I rub my temples. "I'm not surprised, I guess. She seemed to have picked up all the most unlikely candidates."

"Huh. That's what Goto said. Anyway, why can't you get what you need from them?"

"You've been reading my datapad," I say, my voice flat.

"No, but we've been following you enough to get some idea that every time you go somewhere, you leave with a new item. So Goto figured there had to be a link."

"Look, thanks but…"

"Okay, Toxel. I understand; you've been through a lot." She lays her hand on my shoulder for a moment. "Let me know if you need anything."

After she leaves, I try editing what I've written on my datapad, but I'm too distracted. I can't get Yuthura's question out of my mind.

_Why can't I get more from my mother's lightsabres?_ I don't know how long she had them, but they must have been with her longer than the few moments on Malachor V that I saw through Revan's lightsabre.

I pull them out, hold one and then another to in my hands and search for the memories within, but they remain quiet. Shaking my head, I put them away and head to the galley for some food.

Sleep is supposed to be next, but it doesn't come. I rest between dreams and the cold metallic dark of my room, neither fully claiming me. Images float through my mind, little snippets from those that the other objects have yielded to me. I'm not sure when I finally cross over to sleep, for even my dreams are haunted.

To my surprise, I feel good when I wake up, refreshed despite everything. Warm breads and preserves are waiting for me when I enter the galley. I eat in pleasant silence, enjoying this unexpected relief from the worries—about Atris, my mother, and so many other things—that always plague me. After the meal, I practice my lightsabre forms, and my feeling of well being grows.

And then I wake up, this time for real.

The good feelings from the dream are still there, the calm and sense of wellbeing. I try to hold on to it for as long as I can, but the worries are quickly crowding them aside. Before they can, I thank the Force for the gift of the dream.

_Gift._ The word hits me hard, shattering everything into silence. My mother used to treat her powers as a gift. Each day they aided her was a blessing, and she tried to have no expectations of them. I've not been treating my powers as a gift, however. I've been taking what I can from the various objects I've collected. Did I ever give thanks? Can one thank an object?

_Gift_. I pull out the lightsabres in my belt and, following instinct's prompting, stand them up on the small, nearby table. "Thank you," I bow to them, "for protecting me."

It's so hard not to add excuses, and so hard to stay serious as I address the two undrawn blades. But I feel that my mother is right in this. I always have, but it's been an easy lesson to set aside against the wonders of the powers that Revan and Bastila showed me as I grew up.

"I'm sorry for trying to take what you have not offered me. I should have known better."

No response, of course. None of the miraculous insights I can't help hoping for. Just two inanimate objects whose simple beauty masks and equal deadliness. Sighing, I pick up the two lightsabres, intending to put them into my belt, but then I remember my dream and the feeling I had while practicing.

_It's been a long time since I did the forms._ Tentatively, I begin practicing the Soresu forms, quickly getting into the quick strokes following the lines of the body. I can almost feel the imaginary opponents forming around me. First, there is blaster fire—a quick step aside, darting blades intercepting shots from all directions, constantly moving, finding a way to draw the opponents into each other, until they stumble over each other's feet.

Without thinking, I shift to the Ataru form, and my opponents flee before my twisting, attacks that suddenly come from all sides. After that, it's the Shii-Cho style that arises unbidden until I'm covered in sweat and my muscles ache with exertion. But I'm not done yet, for another form takes over, one that I can't identify, one that I seem to know without knowing. It's based on never being where I'm expected, and always being where I need to be. The style calls for constant motion, gentle and subtle unlike the Ataru form, unpredictable and yet always following a pattern I can't see but know how to follow. And I'm slowing down, the sweat and aches settling into stillness, quiet. And then I begin to see something, flickers of memories. I stumble, surprised, and the images fade away. I slow down, taking my time even more, and the glimpses of past events come back, then lengthen, stretch until they dance with me.

-=-=-=--=-=-=--=-=-=--=-=-=--=-=-=--=-=-=--=-=-=--=-=-=--=-=-=--=-=-=-

**Atton – Korriban, Outside the Sith Academy**

_Damn Jedi_. _I should be back on the ship watching those new holovids of Red in the fresher_. I chuckle quietly. _Can't believe no one's found that camera yet._

A quiet scrape of leather on stone wakes me from lush images of red hair and tight flesh. _I can't believe the stupid schutta actually thinks I would let her go alone_. I shake my head.

I'm still surprised that the others didn't protest more, or insist on going with her to the Sith Academy. Even Visas, Xi Lan's constant and oh so plush shadow, has stayed back this time. _Maybe it was that flash of temper in our fearless leader's eye_. I feel my lips curve into a smirk as I remember the look of shock on the Iridonian's face when Xi Lan had told him to shut up. It wasn't the words that had stopped the protests of Bao-Dur, and all those that likely would have followed. It was the set of her jaw, and the cold, hard inflexibility that we all sensed in her aura.

_Damn Jedi_.

Of course, I had been surprised like the rest of them; I'm just better at knowing when to protest an order and when to say "yes" and then ignore it.

Tailing Xi Lan is both easy and yet hard. The Jedi is no professional sneaker, though she's showing more skill than I had expected. _Another skill resurfacing?_ But I can feel her, just beyond the shifting shields of my mind.

Of course, one touch on her shields or one slip in my concentration and she'll know I'm here.

_Damn Jedi frackin' Force bond! Why'd she have to drag me into that damn slow movement training?_

There's always been this growing connection to Xi Lan, and rest of our frackin' crew, especially when we're fighting. It's like we're in each others' heads. But now, this damn slow fighting's got me feeling all sorts of Cannock shit. Like the pent up lust that the frackin' two blondes are filling the air with. Someone needs to show them how to play a little "cargo smuggling."

And there's that damn Red. Frackin' schutta sure knows how to use those weapon mounts to distract a guy. And she's always snooping around, trying to figure out what I'm doing and thinking. _Whatever_.

_Don't like, don't like Jedi._

We're in a long canyon, now. Narrow, dark, it's a good place for hiding. A good place for an ambush too. Xi Lan turns around a corner and I speed up, then pause when I see what lies beyond.

The Sith Academy squats in front of us like that Twi'lek mother-in-law who found out I'd been slipping it to her son's bride just before the wedding. The air seems heavier, thicker, all the sounds now muted. It's so familiar, too familiar, like those days in Revan's training camps on Malachor V, though it had all felt like power then. Now, it's only a heavy weight.

Xi Lan steps out of the shadows, her black shirt and pants billowing in the wind like the robes of a dark Jedi. The twin vibroblades in her hands quickly dispel that illusion, though. They just don't fit with her, no matter how much better she's getting with them.

_She needs light in those hands_. My hand caresses the hard steel cylinder tucked in my jacket, the cool smooth finish of the lightsabre given to me by the last Jedi I killed. _Even if she doesn't want to see it, she needs this. Damn Jedi._

Our fearless leader may be getting better, may becoming more like the Jedi General of the first war, but she's not there yet. _Should I give her this? Would she take it?_ I've been carrying around this damned lightsabre since that last damned Jedi I turned gave it to me. "Y'stal," her name curls itself around my tongue. The one who ripped aside the comfortable illusions of my previous world. The one whose ghost is still making me try to do some good.

What would it be like if she hadn't shown me the Force? Would I have died on Revan's lightsabre, just like so many that served him in the beginning? What would it have been like to serve Malak? Would he have given me the task to hunt down Revan?

_Now that would have been something._

The hunger of my past rises up in me, that yearning to track and hound my prey, to steer them into my trap without them ever knowing I was doing so. _Why is it still so strong? Why can't our—_

The doors of the Academy snap open, like the gaping maw of a tarentek, and I almost cry out. Instincts save me. I know she would only send me back to the ship. The set of her shoulders, the stone determination I sense in her… our fearless leader has something to prove, I think. Or maybe test.

I start to move forward, even as something starts to nag at me. It's like someone's watching me, someone I don't know is there. Which is impossible, because no one's been able to track me since Revan's training camps.

_It's just some frackin' dark side shit… or someone already knows I'm here. Maybe they're even expecting me… for dinner_. An image floats into my mind, of myself sitting down with Sion and two older ladies at one of those nice tea tables my noble lady 'friends' would never bring me to. The chuckle dispels the sense of darkness momentarily, until the door of the Academy slams shut behind Xi Lan.

The next warning that things are getting more complicated is the patter of running feet approaching quickly behind me.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=*

**Bao-Dur, Korriban  
**

Atton wheels around faster than a Mark VII turret with fresh frictionless bearings, his weapons aimed straight at my face. The look on his face, however, has never been seen on any droid I've built. Atton isn't used to being surprised, he certainly doesn't like it, and I've found that I enjoy doing it. I guess it's the part of me that always does what other say can't be done.

"What are _you_ doing here," Atton sighs, but I know that's not the question he's really asking. But I'm not going to tell him how I followed him, especially not about the sensor I stitched into his boot last week.

"Same thing as you, Atton," I tilt my head towards the closed door. "Following the General."

"Of course you are," Atton's sneer is half-hearted; we know too much of each other for more. "Shall we take a look at the door?"

As we walk quickly towards the door, his blasters out and the enhancements on my fists fully charged, I can feel Atton probing at my shields, but he's not the only one who's found ways to hide his thoughts.

Of course, my shields are triple-layered, with randomly varying frequencies and a few backup layers ready to kick in should the first set fail. Or at least that's how I think of them. Atton's shields, on the other hand, always seem to disappear, not only from my senses but also my memory. "Nothing to see here, nothing worth remembering," they seem to whisper in my ear.

That's another thing that helped me follow him. Everything here competes for attention, emitting waves of dark side, depravity, despair, and every other horror we can imagine. Something trying to avoid attention here sticks out like Rodian wrench in a top-of-the-line Czerka 187 toolset.

"So, horns, got any ideas on how to get through this door?" Atton asks as we arrive. A quick search reveals what I suspect both of us already knew; there is nothing on the outside that can be used to access the door's controls.

"Frack," Atton mutters.

"Well, I did whip up something the other day," I say, digging around in my belt pouch. "I've been wanting to give it a try."

"This is not the school science fair." Atton's eyebrows are so close together, I'm worried they are going to touch and short-circuit his brain.

"Har har," Atton grumbles and I grin.

"You peeked in my mind."

"Damned Force. What is that?"

"This," I say, untangling the web of wires I've pulled out, "is going to eat that door. Or at least make a good size hole in it."

"Well, get on it with it."

I laugh as a picture emerges in my mind of myself wearing ill-fitting Iridonian school clothes and gawking at a troupe of Twi'lek dancers in a seedy bar. _Pure Atton. _I nod at him and he smirks. "You might want to step back. This may get a little rough." Atton looks at the web sceptically as I arrange it on the door at about waist height. "Just trust me," I say as I finish.

Atton snorts, but follows without resistance as I pull him away from the door.

For a moment, nothing happens and I start to worry that the design is wrong. I've already thought of two possible modifications to the design when the net and the stone behind finally turn black. Two seconds later and both crumble into dust. The whole process is more silent than I had imagined.

"After you," I tell Atton, indicating the new metre-wide hole in the door.

Atton hesitates briefly. He probes the space beyond the door, then silently enters the blackened hole. As I follow behind him, I can feel him slink to one side, searching the area with his sharp eyes, his distrust of his previous Force search palpable to my senses.

As I wriggle out of the hole, Atton is already moving forward, deadly and almost invisible as he hugs the walls of the corridor leaving from the room. I wait until I feel he wants me to start following, and then I do my best to walk silently along the opposite wall.

About twenty metres later, I feel him slow down. Enemies are ahead, and I know that I'm supposed to draw them out. I go slower, keeping low, but increasing the stamp of my feet, making a small cough. Through Atton, I can feel our prey turn towards me. They move quickly, silent to my senses but stampeding Bantha to Atton's. I freeze, letting them come to me. When Atton's blaster bolts start flying into their backs, I spring up and charge.

A Sith appears out of thin air, his double-bladed sword swinging sideways at my left shoulder. _Big mistake_. I raise my arm, and the blade hits the energy field there, then shakes violently, almost jerking out of the hand of its wielder. I ram my other, enhanced flesh fist into his throat as he tries to regain control of his weapon and the dark clad soldier drops like a stone, his throat crushed by the small impellers in my glove.

I check the three bodies for medical supplies and ammunition as Atton moves forward again, then follow when I feel it's time. In the next ten minutes, using the same technique, we dispose of two other Sith teams.

_How did the General get through this without leaving some bodies?_ I'm not sure which one of us is thinking._ They are letting her through. _As if the thoughts conjured the person, the sounds of clashing blades ring out in front of us. Atton and I move forward quickly.

A large room emerges from the darkness in front of us. There are a few small lights around the room that reveal the shadowed action at its centre. The General moves among her opponents, her blades flashing as she defends herself against four Sith soldiers. Her blades seem to always know where their swords will be, but she's blocking so fast that she doesn't have time to launch an attack of her own.

To me, she looks like she's fighting well, but Atton shakes his head as soon as I think it. He raises his blasters and I ready myself to charge, but then the darkness around us seems to grow thicker, come alive with whispers of agony. Atton's face turns white, and it takes all I have not to block my ears with my hands. The General staggers, but only for a moment, recovering just in time to desperately defend against the redoubled attacks of the Sith.

Atton's blaster shots slam into the back of one of the General's attackers as a nudge from his mind shakes me free from my stupor. I charge, an Iridonian battle shout bursting from my lips as Atton's timed shots skim by my bobbing shoulders. The General ducks under a wild strike, desperate strike, then drives her blade straight through her attacker's torso. A slicing stroke from bounces off my energy arm. I drive my knee into his torso, then slam down my fist onto his spine, breaking it. The last turns, then falls, his back smoking from blaster bolts.

"Three broken, little warriors, treading where the bravest fear to go." The voice sounds like the misaligned gears of a Tatooine sand crawler and yet the pain and contempt of it is inescapably human. The shattered, hardened body that emerges from the shadows should not flow, but it does.

"Is that the best you can do?" the dark Jedi continues. Two eyes adorn the dead-still face, one milky white and the other gray and more lifeless. The dark Jedi is shirtless, his torso instead covered by skin cracked into irregular plates. Besides the dark pants it wears, the only thing it carries is the shaft of a lightsabre. The length of the handle extends far longer than that of any lightsabre I've seen, and it looks far deadlier that the broken blade of the Miraluka that I finally fixed a few days ago.

"Oh, we—" Atton starts, but then his voice cuts off as I feel a long, oily snake of power slide down his throat.

"Be quiet, little scorpion," Darth Sion says, his eyes fixed only on the General. He considers her, and she stares back silently, her breathing heavy.

"Broken Jedi," he says finally, "I will end your suffering today."

The General says nothing and her vibroblades hang loosely in her hands. She's scared, and yet there is puzzlement too. I can feel her gray eyes searching the face of the dark Jedi.

Darth Sion waits silently, his face and body still as death. And yet, not still. Something rises within him. I can hear howls of pain, screams of death, betrayal, and of far deeper losses beyond words.

They should overwhelm me, they should be too much for me to bear, and yet, they are almost comfortably familiar. It's a pain I've accepted, though I can not remember when I did so. It's Malachor V, but I'm not holding it away from myself anymore. It's a part of me, a patchwork job for sure, but it's holding.

Darth Sion's stares at me, then turns to Atton, whose grey, determined face mirrors mine. My tongue answers his unspoken question, though I do not understand what I say. "I know you."

"You do not know me," the Sith Lord roars. He turns towards the General, his lightsabre igniting into a deadly long blade of bristling, blood red doom. "None of you understand, not even you," he sneers, but for a moment, he sounds like an old droid set aside, trying to compute a world in which its service is no longer desired. The moment ends quickly as the Sith drives humming death at the General's torso.

She leaps to the side, and the dark Jedi turns lazily towards her, carelessly. She should attack, but she hesitates, and then he stabs at her again, this time aiming for her right arm. Again, she steps back, and again she doesn't take advantage when he leaves his body open.

_Strike_, I think at her, and she does, her twin blades slamming, and then shattering as they hit his extended arm, leaving not even a nick on his hardened skin.

Darth Sion mouth curls slightly upwards as he points his blade at the General's chest. I can sense him ready his final thrust, and I roar, a full Iridonian war cry, as I charge towards him, my fists raised and full charged.

Darth Sion doesn't move, but I'm driven to the ground, bent to my knees. And then I cry out in pain as my arm's argent blue light flares, then explodes, drowning out the dull thump of my fist hitting the floor.

Atton's blaster bolts follow next. Again, Darth Sion doesn't move, doesn't take his blade away from the General's chest as bolts sizzle on his skin. Atton cries out as the blasters explode in his hands.

"Time to die, Exile," Darth Sion says, but then a blast of blue Force lightning sends him flying across the room. He turns his body in midair, landing feet first on the wall, then descending casually onto the floor.

"You," he says, a faint hint of surprise in his voice. His voice hardens as he continues. "You should know better."

"I do," Visas says, her sultry voice swaying out of the darkness. I feel a tug, and Atton cries out. Two objects hurtle towards the General, who grabs them instinctively.

"Two blades of betrayal, re-forged in love," Visas says, her voice thrumming in the sudden silence. "Use them well, Exile."

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**Toxel, **_**The Bent Lekku,**_** on the way to Nar Shaddaa**

I awaken, for an instant, still moving through the form, gliding straight into another memory.

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**Xi Lan, Korriban Academy**

_I'm alive. _Is this my thought or that of one of the voices in my head?

The lightsabres ignite, two purring blades of argent silver though I sense that the blades are supposed to be red and blue.

_I'm alive._

I have dreaded this moment for so long, and now I can't tell why. My body, the blades, they start moving on their own. We are one, all of us. The lightsabres, the voices in my head, Atton, Bao Dur, Visas, everyone on the ship. Even Sion, like a prick of pain that's been there too long to be noticed.

_I'm alive._ Magic comes in threes. My eyes light upon Darth Sion. I should know him, but his name is not there. There's something missing, a hole that pain and anger has replaced.

He smiles, and my heart lights in return, until his grating voice breaks the spell. "Live, Exile," he says, "so that you may finally die."

I bow slightly, my eyes never leaving him, , an old Jedi habit from long ago. I prepare my blades, left one in front and the other above my head.

Darth Sion roars, his voice filling the room like a hundred charging warriors as he hurtles towards me, slicing crosswise at my chest. I shift, leaning and pivoting right, using the turn to power my right blade into his neck. The blade doesn't penetrate, and he pursues me backwards, thrusting repeatedly at my torso, shoulders, and arms.

He's fearless, relentless and yet it's surprising how clumsy he is. Time after time, I land blows while he misses, hitting his arms, legs, everything.

And yet none of them harm him. The only sign of my strikes are a few dull sparks trapped in the cracks of his stone-grey skin and the growing frustration I sense in him. _He is proud. He's not used to looking this clumsy. _

I try something new, trapping his lightsabre with one my own and striking his hand with the pommel of the other. As his lightsabre drops to the floor, Darth Sion roars again, and I hesitate, feeling suddenly sorry for him until his fist sends me flying across the room.

"This is not over, Exile," Sion growls, extending his hand and calling his lightsabre to it. Something within the dark Jedi shifts as the pommel slaps into his hand. A kernel of fierce light unfurls within, pushing aside strands of pain and anger, part of a dark web that binds his broken body and soul together. Its cleaner, sharp focus shines through his eyes, pinning me with an intensity I should know.

This time, Darth Sion's strikes and movements are much better, graceful and powerful. Soon, I'm struggling to evade, then block his darting thrusts. And he's coming towards me faster and faster, until suddenly I'm pinned against a wall. I block the next two blows, then the third with two blades crisscrossed above my head. This time, he keeps his lightsabre on mine, pushing down on them, using his strength against my trapped swords. My wrists start to bend, and I dive aside, rolling over his left foot. His right foot kicks me hard, and I feel ribs crack as my body smashes against the nearby wall and my left lightsabre clanks on the ground and then spins away.

He should finish me now, with a quick thrust or two. Instead he raises his blade awkwardly over his head, allowing me time to roll away as his blade sinks deeply into the hard stone floor. He roars again in frustration as I call my other lightsabre to me, pulling his blade out of the rock that was starting to glow in anger.

And then he storms towards me again, using quick slicing strokes this time, trying to cut off my evasions to the sides, trying to keep me contained with a thin line. At first, it works, but then my aching body remembers how to respond. I move in instead of back, slamming my pommels into his face. He stumbles slightly, and I thrust my blades into him, one in the torso and one through the right leg. It's the first time my lightsabres have penetrated his thick skin, and hope flares for a moment, before he shatters it by Force pushing me back across the floor into the now farther wall behind.

I get up, my breathing shallow, each breath sending pain like sharp daggers across my chest. Darth Sion stands where I struck him. I can see the ripped strands of the torn dark web re-binding the burnt holes, and the soul within. And I know that I can't let that happen, though I don't know why.

I charge, raining down blows on him, almost crazed, trying to awaken the one within again. But I lose. Darth Sion tries to block, but again his moves are awkward again and many times my blades slip through to futilely strike his skin. The darkness imbued in his skin effortlessly absorbs everything I dish out, and keeps the spark within pinned.

But not forgotten. After yet another stumble, Darth Sion steps back and roars again, the darkness without and the pained soul within united in their frustration.

"You have forgotten that you are not whole, assassin," the Miraluka says quietly.

I'm not sure if Darth Sion hears her. "Go!" he grates. "Take your little pets and leave.

I nod, backing away from him, nudging Visas, Atton, and Bao Dur with my mind to go ahead of me. The men stumble at first, still stunned by their injuries, but they pick up speed as Visas sends healing energy into them, as glad as I am to get out of this dark place alive.

Darth Sion has turned his back to me, but I can feel his power tracking our departure. "We will meet again when I have regained my power, Exile," he says as I reach the room's entrance, his cracked voice surprisingly quiet. "And then I will show you the truth."

"And when I have found the truth, I will find you again, and then...," _And then what? Force, I wish I knew._ "And then we will see..." It feels like a lame parting, but he nods.

I turn my back on him, sure now that our passage will be safe. The four of us jog as best we can towards the exit. The Academy's door opens as we approach it. The light outside almost burns away the horrors we escape.

And yet, a small part of me wants to go back. I'm leaving something important, a memory perhaps, something I need to know. Something about Sion, or about the way we fought together. It's a fragment of something much greater, I think. Something that should fit with the lightsabres I now wear and wield, and with the self that is still rebuilding itself.

Visas and Kreia are no help. Neither can, or more likely will, answer the questions I ask when we return to the ship, neither about Darth Sion nor Visas' former master.

"Do not worry about it," Visas tells me as we approach the planet Onderon. "You will meet both of Kreia's former students in time, and in defeating them find the answers you seek. But you must be prepared."

I nod, no longer listening, stroking lightly the pommels of my new lightsabres. I wonder at times why I trust them, though the answer always comes back the threads that bind us all together. Threads of lightness and connection where those of Darth Sion were dark, lonely, and painful.

But trust does not negate frustration. I'm so sick of these unsolved mysteries and the holes that persist within me. I hate these games that others want me to play. All I want to do is move beyond this clash between the Sith and the Republic and get back to the mystery that first drove me from my home on Re'cha. I need to find again what was stolen from me. I need to remember what it is, find out where it is hidden, and punish the one who stole it and my memories of it.

_And when I do find them, Force forgive me for what I will do._ My new lightsabres are quiet in my hands, but I think they understand.


	12. Chapter 12

**I WILL LIVE: PATTERNS OF BETRAYAL AND REDEMPTION III Chapter 12**

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**A/N:**

_...+ This chapter wasn't sent to Trillian for a beta, so no doubt it's rough. But it's been sitting on my desk for a while now, so time to get it out. _

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**Toxel (on the way to Nar Shaddaa)**

"Wake up, Toxel!" Yuthura loud call shatters the shell of my mother's memories. "We'll be arriving soon."

I almost snarl something rude back, catching myself just in time. Something was touching my mind, very gently, perhaps another memory. I know Yuthura's call is urgent, but it's so hard to give up this up. No item gives the same memory twice.

"What can we expect?" I ask, tucking away the lightsabres, as I enter the cockpit. My voice is only slightly sharp.

"You found something, I'm guessing?" Yuthura eyes the lightsabres in my belt when I crinkle my eyes. "You were lost in that form for a long time."

"Yeah."

Yuthura waits for a moment, then smirks. "You can tell me about it later. Right now, I need you to man the guns. It's going to be busy when we appear."

"How long?"

"Thirty minutes still, but you need to get familiar with the weapon systems." She turns her gaze back to the flight panel, plotting a new course for hyperspace in the jump computer's standby slot. "This is our next destination, but we're going to need some clear space before we can jump. Until then, you've got to keep the bad boys away."

"Okay." The panels of the main weapons controls gleam, unlike the secondary ones places near the pilot's seat. _The Bent Lekku_ has a surprising number of weapons for such a small ship. Two missile tubes, four semi-automated point defence guns, and three main beam weapons—two forward and one on the right. After checking that the weapon safeties are still on, I practice using the controls. The set up is intuitive to me, and I quickly realize that it was designed for a Force user. It doesn't take long before I'm comfortable with them.

"Nice set up. I'm ready," I tell her.

"Good, because we're about to exit."

I turn off the weapon safeties, then take a deep breath, reaching out to the Force. The connection comes quick, and its deep and strong, surprisingly so. A sense of wonder starts to fill me, but then the streaking lights becomes points, and we emerge into a hail of turbolaser fire, streaking ships, and fiery explosions.

There are so many ships, it's hard to tell them apart. We've arrived in the midst of a full scale fighter engagement, like those of my mother's memories from the Mandalorian invasion.

"Who do I shoot at?" I yell at Yuthura.

"Trust the Force," she snarls back, yanking the ship sharply to the right, barely avoiding an exploding small freighter.

Behind, I feel a ship turn its attention towards us. Yuthura must sense it too, because she turns sharply right, bring the right facing gun to bear on our pursuer. I shoot instinctively, and flares of light burst ineffectively across the shields of what looks like a Czerka escort ship.

The ship shoots at us in turn, but Yuthura is already turning downwards and the beams miss us. I flick a finger, and a missile launches itself at the Czerka ship. It explodes just metres from our pursuer's hull, the shrapnel overloading its shield projectors. A few shots later from our guns and it splits in two.

"Three more on our left, Toxel," Yuthura shouts as she flips _The Bent Lekku_ upside down so that the right gun comes to bear on the quickly approaching ships.

"How long before we can jump out of this?" I say, shooting at the closest one. It doesn't have the shields that the Czerka one had, and breaks apart as the turbolasers hit.

"Course is plugged in, but we need to get clear of this frackin' mess first."

_That's not going to be easy._ The two remaining ships following us are better equipped and their pilots are good. Shot after shot from them is deflected by our shields or barely misses because of Yuthura's dodging. My shots are accurate, but not enough to penetrate the shields of our larger pursuers, and there are too many ships battling around us for me to target the missiles.

A flurry of turbolasers hits one of our pursuers, a series of direct hits that overwhelms its shields. Four more ships, small freighters retrofitted with newer weaponry join our frantic, jerky chase, their target our pursuers. Another pursuer explodes and I'm starting to feel hopeful. The edge of the fight seems only moments away, but then Yuthura swerves sharply left, snarling "Frackin' slave-to-all-Republic." Turbolaser fire barely misses us as our pursuer and four helpers explode simultaneously into fragments.

Yuthura turns our ship back into the thick of the melee, putting the swarming ships between us and our new enemy, the Republic light cruiser that jumped in on top of us.

"Incoming missiles," Yuthura yells.

A swarm of missiles bear in on us from the Republic ship. Most of them explode into other ships, friends and allies both, but three make it through and hurtle towards us. They are almost too fast for my Force-inspired reactions and the point defence fire. "Got 'em."

"_The Bent Lekku_," a voice calls into the comm, "Gizka-A99, vector 8876-998 and fast!"

Yuthura's next turn almost unseats me. "Who's that?" I yell, launching two missiles as we enter a small area of clear space. Another, new pursuer explodes.

"Frack if I know!"

Something's happening, because almost half the ships seem to explode outwards from the milling centre, some of them bursting into flame as they smash into other ships in their way. The remaining ships seem to hesitate, then pursue, a second's delay only, but a moment too long. A thick sheet of turbolaser fire rains from the right onto them, as the dark gleaming mass of a Mandalorian destroyer shimmers out of nothingness.

Unlike the Republic light cruiser, the smaller Mandalorian destroyer sails straight into the milling small freighters of the enemy. Many perish against her hulls, their quiet deaths revealed only by small, and unexpectedly beautiful sparks that glimmer and then quickly fade. The others flee, many dying more mundanely under the continued barrage of turbolaser fire.

The Republic light cruiser had largely held off firing, but whatever the reasons were for its restraint before, it now it engages its new enemy wholeheartedly. The shields of the Mandalorian destroyer flare as the cruiser's fire slams into it. The Mandalorian returns fire, manoeuvring briskly, trying to use its greater quickness to get out of the cruiser's firing arc while the few remaining smaller ships of our enemy fleeing into the night

"Stop gawking like a newbie in a Twi'lek strip bar and get out of here," a strangely, familiar voice shouts from the comm. Yuthura grunts in frustration, and then we dive into hyperspace.

The ship is strangely silent after the intense action. I can't stop looking for other pursuers, though I know I would never see them in hyperspace. Finally, I take a few breaths and get up from my chair. Yuthura is still in the pilot's chair, but she's leaning back, slowly stroking the base of her left lekku.

"That was close," she says quietly.

"Who was that last person on the comm?" I ask. "The one who told us to get out of the way?" Yuthura only shrugs. "Then why did you trust him?"

"He used an emergency Exchange code. One that I trusted without question."

"Trusted?"

"Our enemy will have no doubt intercepted and analyzed it by now."

"And how about the ships helping us? Were they Exchange as well?"

"I only recognized a few of them," the Sith says, her eye ridges furrowing. "They were a motley crew."

"True, but they were prepared. I sensed some very new hardware on some of them. I guess this also means that the Mandalorian destroyer doesn't belong to the Exchange?"

"Toxel, I didn't even know Mandalorian ships still existed. I thought Revan got rid of them all."

"As far as I knew, he did…" And then I remember. Revan did let one Mandalorian destroyer go. "Oh cannock shit."

"What?" says Yuthura, turning around to look me in the eye.

"It can't be…"

"Tell me what you're thinking, Toxel." Yuthura's voice is surprisingly gentle.

_It can't be the _Tulden_. How would that be possible? Why would Toxel's ship get involved?_

"Toxel," Yuthura says again.

I take a deep breath. "I think it could be the _Tulden_. It was the ship… of my father, Toxel of the Clan Tulden, Champion of the Mandalorian."

Yuthura touches me on the shoulder. "Could he still be on it? We can't go back, you know."

"I know, and the answer is 'no,' he can't be on the ship. My father died before I was born. Kreia…" I pause. Yuthura, as a Sith must know about my mother's former mentor.

"Kreia," Yuthura sighs. "A dark name with a dark history. How was she involved?"

"She tried to take information out of my father's mind, and he killed himself before she could finish the deed. Then, she sought out my mother and tried to teach her about the Force. And while she was doing that, Kreia also tried to learn about, maybe even take, my mother's… abilities."

Yuthura looks at me, then shakes her head. "The events of the galaxy seem to be centring themselves around your mother and you, Toxel."

"It just doesn't seem real," I sigh. "I guess I'm used to seeing this happening to other people."

"Like Revan?"

"And Bastila. How can anyone worry about me and my doings with them around?"

"Your mother, well... no one really knows that much about her except that she was Revan's former lover who lost her power at Malachor. After that, nothing much save a few rumours of her doings ten years later and that didn't last more than a year."

"My mother's been dead for almost fifteen years. Why does anyone care now?"

"Well, clearly people know that you're looking for her now," she says. "Think about it from the perspective of a Sith who's gaining power using secrecy and manipulation. Such people don't like mysteries and powers they can't figure into their plans. Your mother was very much of an unknown. She was always in the background, and yet she took down some of the most dangerous Sith around, without an army to back her up and without Revan's mastery and strength in the Force." Yuthura pauses. "Revan and Bastila are strong, but everyone knows what they can do. Your mother… and you… are a different story."

I know what she's saying makes sense, but I don't want to understand. The only response that pops into my mind is: "It isn't fair."

"You're right, Toxel," Yuthura says. I blush, realizing that I spoke my self-pitying words aloud. Yuthura hesitates, then touches my shoulder awkwardly. "It isn't fair, but then life almost never is. Especially for those with great power."

"Great power…"

"Yes, Toxel. You are a Jedi, with enviable training and a mysterious heritage. Whether you desire it or not, those seeking power will be threatened by you even if you never seek to change their world. With great power comes a lot of things. Jealousy, desire, fear and responsibilities…" Yuthura sighs. "But that list does not include peace and happiness, I believe."

"I need to think through this."

Yuthura nods and I walk to my room, lying down on the small cot within. But it is sleep, not new insights, that finds me there.

I feel a presence touch my dreams almost immediately. It is strange, for though I'm aware both that I'm sleeping and the gentle ransacking of my memories, I feel no need to wake up or to resist. Instead, I find myself dreaming of Re'cha, the planet where I had lived with my mother before Bastila's impetuous kidnapping.

"Have a nice sleep?" Yuthura asks, smiling over her shoulder when I walk in. I feel fresh, after a quick wash in the fresher and with a relatively fresh set of clothes. My Sith companion also looks more awake as she lounges in the pilot's chair, her feet up on the panel in front of her. This time, she's wearing a black shirt and long skirt that hang lightly on her frame. Jenti, the gizka, lies asleep on her legs.

"Yes, thank you." I start a set of light stretches. "I forgot to ask last time. How long will it take us to reach our next destination?"

"Well, the emergency route calls for a number of quick jumps designed to throw off pursuit. The first one will be in three hours. I'm pretty sure we're not being followed, but you should be prepared just in case."

"Okay."

Yuthura turns back to front, stroking Jenti as she stares at the streaking stars. After a few minutes of stretching, I realize how little I have eaten in the last few days. "Have you eaten, Yuthura?"

"Nibbled."

"I'll make us something."

Most of the food in the ship's larder is pre-cooked, but that will not satisfy me now. As I rummage through the ingredients remaining, a feeling of soft, familiar longing fills me as I realize what I can make fresh. For the first time in ages, I find myself making Re'cha ledli.

Yuthura places Jenti gently on top of a nearby panel when I return with the steaming meals. "Some kind of bun?" Yuthura guesses when I hand her the plate full of the brown, bite-sized balls.

"It's ledli, a dish from Re'cha. Re'cha's near the Mandalorian side of the Republic," I continue when Yuthura furrows her eyebrows. "I gave you a few extra ledli for Jenti. Gizka seem to like them."

"Gizka like everything," Yuthura smiles, handing one to Gizka before trying one herself. "These are good."

For a while, the cockpit is silent as we both eat, the sounds of the ship's engines and instruments too familiar to be heard.

"Re'cha is where your mother was exiled, then?" Yuthura asks finally, putting her plate next to Jenti. The gizka wakes up quickly, and begins devouring the remaining pieces with relish.

"Yeah. When I had first started learning how to cook, the first dishes I had mastered were Re'chian. I guess I was looking for something that would help me remember my mother. However, after tasting thirty or so dishes, Re'chian ledli were the only dish that seemed familiar."

Yuthura nods her head. She pauses a moment, then pulls out a sleek, black cane with a shiny, ornate handle. "This belonged to Gizka, my lover. Not this one," she smiles.

"It's beautiful."

"A lot more than he was. I guess all that stuff about 'I'll always being in your heart' just isn't enough. I know I need a tangible reminder."

"I could…"

"No," Yuthura says sharply, then sighs. "Thank you, but I know all I need to about Gizka."

"I understand."

"I doubt you do," Yuthura smirks. "But I believe you will one day. Thanks for the ledli."

I take the plate she offers, and wash it along with mine. Then I return to my room and turn on my datapad to edit what I've written.

**

* * *

Several hours in space  
**

I'm manning the guns when we come out of our first jump, but I might as well be sleeping. Just as the stars turn from streaks to points of distant life, our ship shudders as alarms beep on Yuthura's control panel.

"Frack," Yuthura grunts, slamming the thrusters to full. At first, we don't move. Then, slowly, as if we are flying through mud instead of empty space, we turn upwards until a large, familiar ship fills our screen. And then we move towards it, despite the roar of the engines at the back of our ship.

"It's the _Tulden_," I say as Yuthura turns off the thrusters.

"Can you target the tractor beam," she asks as we both scan the ship.

"They don't think so," I say. They're letting us study them, not bothering to block our scanners. It's a beautiful ship, black and sleek, no wasted space, bristling with deadly weapons, fake vulnerable spots, multiple layers of armour, and redundant shield generators.

Neither of us bother trying to contact the ship. They'll contact us when they're ready. Still, it's a hard thing to be pulled helplessly towards an unknown force, in silence, not knowing what fate awaits us.

Our ship shudders as the ship is secured within the well-protected small bay of the destroyer. The docking arm extends section by section towards us silently, its opaque walls masking our view of the people who wait at its far end. Silently, Yuthura and I walk towards _The Bent Lekku's_ exit. The light goes off, telling us that the connection has been made. Yuthura nods when I look at her, then opens the door.

"Hey kid," the man in the centre says. He's average height, trim, dressed in closely fitted brown pants and shirt that shows he's still in fine shape. The man's hair is full, greying in an attractive way. His brown eyes sparkle, but there is a twitchiness to them as well, and it's that more than anything that tells me who he is.

"Atton?"

"Yes, Toxel?" he responds, his grin wide, challenging.

"How do…" I start, then stop when a small, voluptuous woman sways out from behind Atton. She's dressed in a long, clinging, purple dress, made form one of those soft, textures materials that look nice to touch.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Champion of the Feynar," she says, smiling lightly.

"Uh, excuse me?" It's been fifteen years, and yet Visas looks the same as before. Or perhaps more of what she was before; it's hard not to be drawn to her curves and the glistening light of her full lips.

"Don't mind her," Atton says, clapping me on my shoulder, before turning his smile to Yuthura. "Who's your lady friend?" His smile brightens when she scowls.

"Yuthura Ban, and don't bother with that smile. I've seen dozens of younger and better versions of it."

Atton bows, his smile unfazed. "Follow me and I'll explain on the way."

"Umm… we have one more," I say.

"I'll take care of Atris," Visas says, sliding around me. My body tries to lean towards her as she passes, pulled against my will.

"You'll get used to it," Atton says quietly in my ear. I blush. I hadn't realized I had been following her walk.

Yuthura scowls. "Men."

"Love women," Atton smiles. "C'mon."

The halls feel empty as we make our way into the ship, and then upwards into the middle. Occasionally, we pass a group of Mandalorian walking the halls in small groups, or manning the various key stations around the ship. And yet, the ship is spotless, the walls and floor polished to a shine. I soon realize why; little cleaning robots constantly whir by us, some on the ground and some floating in the air. They are more of them than I've ever seen on a ship before.

"We're awash in robots," Atton says. "Bao-Dur programmed some of them to self-replicate near the end of their useful years, but there was a slight flaw in his program."

"How many of you are there?" I remember Revan's memory, of the dead bodies carried by The Ebon Hawk away from Malachor V.

"On the ship—"

"I mean from the group that traveled with my mother," I interject hastily.

Atton stops and looks me in the eye. "Visas got it right, you really do know about us, don't you kid?"

"A little. But how do you know about me?"

"Ah, now that's a longer story, and one that should be told over a good cup of kaffa or…" he studies Yuthura for a moment, "perhaps a few glasses of Dantooine Flash Fire."

"Kaffa," Yuthura says, her face expressionless.

Atton smiles, unfazed. It's funny. He's the same as the man before, and yet not. His flirting, nonchalance, they are a comfortable habit now, no longer a mask driven by unmet needs within.

The kaffa in the small canteen is surprisingly good, as are the strips of dried meat Atton suggests. We work our way slowly through them as the ship accelerates, then enters hyperspace.

"So here's the short story," Atton says when we're done, running his hand through his salt and pepper hair. "Visas had this nice plan where we'd get you out of Revan's hands and out in the world, gaining experience, power, and all those other things that make you the hero of the tale. So we set out these little items on all the planets that we visited, which she insisted you would be able to make use of. And apparently you did, because you seemed to be following the trail that she set out. But plans are nice things to make and a malraas in heat to stick to. So now, given that the bad guys know about you and are closing in, we decided that it's time to speed things along. Which means that Dxun's nextand then we need to get your mother on Malachor V."

"Oh…" My mind is empty and full at the same time. "Why can't we just skip Dxun and go Malachor V?"

"Yeah… the Force's like a Twi'lek in… ," he pauses, smiles, lopsided, bright teeth and shadowed eyes. "Sorry," he says to her, "I'm worse than usual. Comes with hanging out with Mandalorians for fifteen years."

"You were saying," she prompts.

Atton looks at her, seeing I think more than her bland face wants to reveal. "Yeah… so basically Visas says that young Toxel here needs to follow the same path his mother took. You've pretty well done that already, except for Dxun, which isn't going to be frackin' easy considering there are more starships circling the planet than long haul pilots around the last two-cred… umm, ale."

"Why do I have to follow the same path as my mother," I ask as Atton and Yuthura stare at each other, one smiling without and the other within.

"Visas said something about re-awakening patterns and all that so that we can get Xi Lan."

"So my mother's alive?"

Atton's smile slips, turning into a look of sympathy that surprisingly fits well on this older version of the rake. "Frack kid, I don't know. I've tried asking her high priestess, but she just says stuff like 'she is dead in the eyes of the Force but nothing of Alkeh can ever transition.'"

"Alkeh…" I remember it, how Visas encountered it, and then sought it in my mother. "Something that has never and always existed, that was there before time and will exist when the Force is no more. It is neither dark nor light. Pilots sense when they are in space too long and when slaves no longer believe in freedom or themselves, they yearn for it, a place where they can not be."

I come out of Visas' memories to find Atton and Yuthura staring at me. In both their eyes, I see the haunting flicker of something.

"Frack kid," Atton says, shaking his head. "You've got some serious Jedi speak wandering around in there."

"That is not of the Jedi," Yuthura says quietly, her eyes looking at me but not seeing me, "and you know it, Jedi."

"That's the problem these days," Atton mumbles, ducking his head as his hand pulls his hair back, "can't even wallow in self-delusion anymore."

A moment of silence passes, two or three more follow, before Atton takes a deep breath. "Now I understand this Champion bit a little more," he says.

"You called Toxel a Champion of something before," Yuthura prompts.

"He called me Champion of the Feynar," I say, "and it has something to do with the Mandalorians as well as my mother."

Atton turns to face us again, pasting a half-hearted smile just enough to dispel the touch of Alkeh within. "I was hoping you would know something about it, kid. I guess you do, but I'm not sure I like what I'm finding." His smile crooks up on the left corner, a more natural smile. "Too complicated, anyway, for an old smuggler like me."

Yuthura clears her throat pointedly.

"I overheard Visas and the new Mandalore talk about it once," Atton continues, "when they were discussing possible plans for taking on every major force in the Republic to support your search. And here I was thinking the Mandalorians were supposed to be getting away from all that rampaging and pillaging stuff."

I smile, feeling myself relax.

Atton's eyes crinkle. "One day soon, kid, you're going to tell me how you know me so well. Preferably over a glass of—"

"Dantooine Flash Fire," I interrupt, unable to resist, "with Bao-Dur."

"…and our fine new friend here," he nods at Yuthura. "And then you can tell me about what you've learned through my bottle opener and whatever else Visas stole from my locker."

"I would like that."

Yuthura shakes her head, and we both smile. "Frack," she says, smiling and frowning at the same time like an old aunty with her two favourite miscreant nephews. Quiet tears well up in her that never quite touch her eyes. She misses that Twi'lek, the man that Brianna saw her with on Nar Shadaa.

"What happened to him," I ask before good manners can stop me.

Yuthura stiffens, turns her face away, and shields slam into place guarding her mind and feelings. "Get out of my head," she says coldly.

"Sorry," I say, and to my surprise Atton says it too.

Atton's genuinely contrite, but the expression still doesn't sit well on a face that's reflexively trying to smirk. Yuthura eyes us both, and something in her relaxes, just a little, just enough, when she notes Atton's struggles.

"His name was Gizka," she says. "He was a good man who died to make the Exchange a bit nicer than it once was. He's the reason Goto stands by you today, Toxel, and why the Exchange, when necessary, will put the Republic above profit." And then she walks away.

"That woman deserves better," Atton says quietly as we watch her disappear around a corner. I nod silently. I like this new Atton even more than the one before.

* * *

_**A/N**: Not the best place to end a chapter, but I want to get this out and get some momentum, so…_


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: I WILL LIVE: PATTERNS OF BETRAYAL AND REDEMPTION III **

**A/N**:

1. Must finish the story, must finish the story. This is the first half of a longer chapter that is 70% done. I'm posting it now to see if there are any readers left :)

2. This has not been beta'ed, because I need to just "get it out."

* * *

**.**

**One day after Toxel and Yuthura join _The Tulden_**

I barely register the strange beep before my bed tilts suddenly sideways, nor the instinctive twist of my body. I'm swaying on my feet as my eyes open, and it takes me a while to register the hard smiles of the men around me as they casually dress.

"Welcome to another day on the Mandalorian ship, _The Tulden_," Atton smirks as he strides into my room, tossing some clothes at me. "Wear these until we get those old clothes of yours washed."

The door to my room stays open as I pull myself into the one piece, plain black-grey uniform.

"Your mother's colors," Atton says. "It's the Disciple's idea. 'Rallying the troops' and all that space rot he likes to spew."

"He's alive then," I say, wishing that I had somewhere to sit and rub my aching head.

"Yeah. Be glad he's not here or we'd be getting a lecture about your drinking last night."

"It's coming back to me," I mutter, rubbing my head. After Yuthura had left us in the canteen, Atton had grilled me with questions while slowly feeding us _Dantooine Flash Fire._ I had wanted to try it because of the memories I had shared of Atton and Bao-Dur's evenings together in the Ebon Hawk.

"I suppose the Flash Fire accounts for the light halo I see around you," I continue

"It's certainly not from my good behaviour."

I rub my head as Atton pushes me gently into the corridor and then left. My stomach rumbles as we walk. _I think I'll wait a few more years before I try that again._

"Food will help," Atton says.

"When did I go to bed?"

"Oh, about two hours before dinner, which makes it thirteen hours ago."

We walk the rest of the way in silence. Atton greets a few people as we walk along and everyone looks at him, then me, as we pass, their eyes moving from respect to curiosity as they make the short journey.

"Be thankful," Atton says just before we enter the same canteen as yesterday, "that I haven't told them who you are. Everyone's waiting for their new Champion to arrive."

"And what makes anyone think that I'm that? I'm seventeen years old and have no battle experience. Besides the Wise Women talked about the Feynar."

"Well, you could blame Visas. She's got this knack for seeing things in the future. Proved her worth by keeping us hidden over these years and by knowing when you'd leave Tatooine. All the Mandalorians call her a Wise Woman or something like that."

We sit at a small table in the far corner. A stern Twi'lek woman sets the table for us, her efficient movements and firm posture speaking of many battles fought. She studies us when she's done, first Atton and then me. Winking, she walks off, speaking to us over her shoulder. "I know just the cure."

"Kaffa too, mother," Atton calls after her. She smirks then walks towards the kitchen.

"I'm guessing that she's not going to bring it?"

"Smart guess." Atton smiles as a younger Cathar waitress, her hair blue with grey stripes and her smile broad, winks at him. "But Shuti there will get us some as soon as Ellie delivers the Malraas stew. I can't eat that stuff without something to wash it down, but it does wonders for hangovers."

"So Visas said I was the Champion, like my father before me?"

"Yep. The Mandalore won't be coming on this trip, since the booze isn't good enough and he wants to rebuild and conquer again. So, you get to be the new all powerful leader, and the one everyone blames when something goes wrong. Oh, and you got to do all that while leading the Forgotten, or the Feynar as you called them, out of the Republic and into uncharted space until we find a new home somewhere far, far away."

The questions burst out of me. "You know who the Feynar are? Why are the Mandalorians with us? And how is my mother involved in all this?"

"Whoa kid, turn down the throttle," Atton smiles. He swings his arm to encompass the large dining room. "First, look around you." Mandalorian and other soldiers are sitting down for breakfast. The non-Mandalorians mill around a bit, looking at the Mandalorians uncertainly, while the latter just sit where they please, their plates filled with more food than I could eat in a day. I sense no uneasiness in my mother's former foes. Instead, its purpose and relief I sense in them, a sense of people who have "come home."

I look back and Atton, just as he receives a bottle surreptitiously from Shuti. "Here's some medicine," he winks. The bottle's label says Jawa Juice but the swirling colours of the liquid he pours into our glasses is all Dantooine Flash Fire.

Pushing one glass towards me, he continues, "Here's the short version. A long, long time ago in a place far, far away from here, there was a huge war like the one we went through recently. When that war ended, there were all these soldiers and civilians who couldn't fit in."

"They didn't fit in anymore."

"They were like Jedi in a brothel. Their lightsabres were still all charged up but everyone else wanted to play a different game of bury the dagger. And that game is hard to do with glowing sticks swinging about, so everyone just tries to ignore them."

Atton takes another sip, prolonging it, his eyes twinkling. "So along comes this lady," he continues finally, "saying she can see the future and all that space rot. Now, everyone loves a good prophet gig, except that a lot of people actually believed her. So the next thing you know, they've got this big fleet of space junk freighters heading off into unknown space in search of a new life. According the Disciple, it took them hundreds of years to settle on a new home, battling through all sorts of hostile species, pirates and all sorts of other space frack."

Atton takes another long sip, and I return the favour by digging into the malraas stew that the older waitress brings.

"Well, you can guess how the story goes," Atton continues. "They learn to fit in, eventually join the local empire. A few hundred years later, there's another big war, which creates a new bunch of misfit ex-soldiers and other debris. Only this time, someone from the original exiles gathers them together so that they can go on their very own "see the universe" tour. And the cycle goes on and on, like a Hutt jabbering on about credits. And each group takes on the same name, the Forgotten People, which are called the Feynar in Mandalorian."

"How long has this been going on?"

"Longer than I want to know, kiddo. No one even knows exactly how long your mother's people have been in the Republic. In fact, the only reason why we know anything at all is because the Disciple dug up some holorecords in Korriban that mentioned this whole ongoing tour of the galaxy's nether regions."

My headache gets worse as I try to imagine the scale of this thing, spanning cycle of wars and the empires scattered across the breadth of our galaxy.

"It gets more fun," Atton chuckles. "We've about fifty million Mandalorians in total, which is about a third of those that remain and are at full capacity. Now imagine another one hundred and sixty million former Republic soldiers and more than two hundred and fifty million more former militia and civilians."

"That's more than four hundred and fifty million people…" I say, struggling to keep my voice, and my heart steady.

"It was a war of two galactic empires, kiddo. At the beginning of the war, there were about one billion Mandalorian soldiers and three billion Republic ones."

"Yeah," I say, massaging my aching temples, "I guess that makes sense."

Atton laughs, "Head hurting? That's how I felt too when Visas and the Disciple explained it to me and the others. It's easy to forget how big the wars really were and easier to think about the next cargo, drink, or score. Frack knows I wish I could. After they told me, I spent the next three days playing pazaak in the nearest bar." Atton shakes his head, "I was so fracked up by it, Fauzad walked away with my creds and the girls."

Atton pours another glass from his bottle. He holds it out to me, then sighs dramatically when I use my water glass to clink his. "It will help…"

I shake my head.

"No respect for your elders," Atton sighs, before drowning his glass. "Now, as for why the Mandalorians have joined us, well we've got more Cathar and Echani a—"

"—and other former soldiers and citizens who need their help," another voice interrupts, the voice smooth and painstakingly caring.

Atton moves his bottle out of reach as the man sits down. His greying, blond hair and beard hang long and are carefully groomed. He wears light brown robes like the Jedi of old and his body wide of girth and firm from use. His light, blue eyes and smile are gentle, his face wrinkled around the eyes from squinting, and everything about him is a carefully constructed façade that hides a warrior as well as a keen intelligence.

"Mical, right?" I say.

He starts, just for a moment, then nods.

"You're not the only one digging around in other people's space garbage," the former smuggler chuckles, though Mical's polite smile never wavers. "The Disciple likes to be underestimated, if that's possible," Atton winks at me.

"Just what is the extent of your gift, Toxel?" the Disciple asks, carefully. "What did the artefacts that Visas left for you reveal?"

"I see the memories of those people who owned the item."

"You see the moments as we remember them?"

I think about that for a moment. I've never really tried to explain exactly what it is that I experience. It's more than seeing; it's being that person in that moment. I don't think the Disciple or Atton will want to hear that, though. _I doubt I'll be able to lie to them, though_.

"Kind of," I say, shrugging, which is true enough I hope. "I haven't touched any of your items..."

The Disciple and Atton study me, with their eyes and the Force. "I don't think we want to know more, blondie," Atton says finally.

"Hmm, yes." The Disciple nods. He breaks eye contact, looks around the room. "The Mandalorians are here for the same reason as everyone else: to forge a new purpose in a world that would rather forget them." He pauses, catching my eyes again. "I'm afraid Atton's numbers are a bit outdated. We currently number around five hundred and forty seven million members, but more come every day."

I let out a long breath.

"Compared to the numbers involved in the war," the Disciple continues, "the number with us is actually quite small."

Atton nods. It's strange to see them in agreement, talking as part of a group rather than battling as sparring partners.

Atton chuckles, "Don't worry, Toxel, we'll be at each other in moments."

The Disciple smiles politely, then continues. "It is the nature of all species to put aside uncomfortable memories. When the wars finally ended, there were victory parades and ceremonies honouring the dead for the first year. And then everyone wanted to get back to business. The problem was, and still is, that are many who still remain who cannot just remove the war and its impacts from themselves. They carry it every day in their memories, injuries, and other wounds. Their sacrifice cannot be dispelled with a medal and a pat on the back, and history is more concerned with heroes, strategies, and grand numbers to tell their story. And so, I'm afraid, they are gradually pushed to the edges of society where they no longer remind those who can forget of what happened before."

"Frackin' idiots," Atton grumbles, deftly twirling his empty glass on the table with his finger. "Can't fly straight if they've got their head up their exhaust pipe."

"It was our choice to defend them," the Disciple says to Atton, who scoffs. The Disciple turns to me. "Soldiers everywhere around the galaxy have been paying this price since the beginning of time, but the first of the Forgotten People provided something different: a journey to a new world. By going away, the Forgotten People get away from the pitying stares and forgetfulness of those they had died to protect. They also get a new purpose, which is to find a new home, and the soldiers can use their skills to protect the others, which comes without the moral complexities of war. The Forgotten People and their exiles have worked quietly for many centuries, if the records I've been able to dig up are accurate."

"Why have we never heard about them before?"

"Consider the numbers of our group, Toxel. Most of them have fought before and together they could be a formidable army, especially now with the Republic army still recovering. What would happen if our existence and numbers were widely known?"

"How can they not be known?"

"They come in small numbers, to multiple destinations, from which we gather them and bring them to Malachor. These destinations will no doubt seem familiar to you: Telos, Nar Shadaa, and Dantooine. Dxun and Onderon too until now. Visas told us where to wait and they showed up, even though we did not tell anyone where we were or what we were doing."

"It was the same with my mother's jewellery. They all knew how to find my mother no matter where she was."

"Yes," the Disciple smiles sadly.

"So now, I'm supposed to lead these exiles out of the Republic? But what about my mother? Where does she fit in? Is she even alive?"

"I believe her people were a previous group of exiles from another empire, but I haven't been able to find her people to confirm it. The records of their location have been expunged from the Republic's records.

"Even Revan found it difficult to get information on them, and that was before the Mandalorian war."

The Disciple waits, then continues when I add nothing more. "It's clear that there's something about her that brings them together. Even now, they still come because of her. As for her state…" the Disciple sighs, and his face turns sad. "I'm sorry, Toxel, but I don't know. All logic says that she should be dead, but Visas insists that she still lives and all those who still come believe her."

"What about the Mandalorian Wise Women? They said that she was Feynar. Have you asked them for more information?"

"They are impossible to find unless the Mandalorian help, and they won't do it. Apparently, most of the Wise Women have chosen to remain with the Mandalorians who will not join us, and all of them have decided that's it none of their business."

"I doubt you would be willing to pay their price anyway," I laugh weakly, remembering what they had demanded of my father.

The Disciple frowns briefly, and then carefully asks, "Do _you_ believe your mother still lives, Toxel?"

"I don't know."

"Then why did you leave Bastila's home?"

"Because I had to find out what happened to her and then tell others."

"Sith's hairy testicles," Atton groans loudly, stopping the glass he's been twirling. "I think you know, kiddo, that I'm not into Jedi speak, but stop thinking and tell us what your sensors are telling you."

"I feel something," I shrug, "at the edge of my consciousness, something impossibly large. It feels familiar, but I can't tell anything else about it and I don't know what it means."

"Well, that's either your mother or your inheritance from her," Atton says. The Disciple frowns at him, but Atton ignores him. "I'm convinced," he says, refilling his glass with Dantooine Flash Fire. He downs the glass, slams it onto the table. "She's alive." Without another word, he leaves the Disciple and I.

The Disciple shakes his head as he watches Atton go, but I can feel the smile underneath. "I won't tell him," he says to me quietly, "because it would disgust him to no end, but if Atton says that he believes, then that's good enough for me. Visas has visions of the future, but she sometimes struggles to translate what she sees. Atton's very good at discerning which interpretations are credible."

The Disciple pauses, studies me. "You do not need to tell me whether you agree. I only offer what little wisdom we have. Besides, I do not believe the question of whether your mother is alive will change your course."

"True…" I look around the room, desperate for another topic to discuss. It's busier now, and as mixed as any place I have ever seen. Warriors from all races sit together, mixing indiscriminately at some tables, segregated at others. Bodies lean forward, eyes are fixed to faces, and interruptions are few. Tales are being shared, I feel, among new comrades as they feel each other out, building bonds that will serve them in the journeys and battles to come.

"How long have they been together," I ask the Disciple.

"The original crew of this ship has been together for a long time, but newcomers arrive constantly. We are trying to given as many people opportunities to serve together as is possible. Many here were also on the small ships that participated in that battle near Nar Shadaa's jump point."

"How many small ship bays does the Tulden have?"

"The crew have jury-rigged a lot of spaces along the hull. They won't last long, however, if we continue getting into serious fights, despite our shield improvements."

"Bao-Dur is alive then," I ask carefully.

Mical smiles. "Yes, and working as hard as ever. I believe Atton and he are missing their nightly chats in the cockpit."

"Where is he now?"

"He's getting things prepared for the journey and accomplishing things with his engineering team that will be the envy of the Republic should they ever find out."

"Where is he?"

"He and most of our members are at Malachor V, getting ready for the trip. Given our numbers, our undertaking requires extensive preparation."

I nod, trying not to think about how many people I'm supposed to lead.

The Disciple touches my arm. "I know you have many questions, Toxel, but they can wait for now. You need to finish your quest, and the next place to visit is Dxun. Visas had us leave artefacts there that will tell you more of the story. The problem is that there are five Republic cruisers and many other smaller ships now circling the moon. One of cruisers is the same ship that engaged _The Tulden_ outside of Nar Shadaa."

"Is going to Dxun necessary? Can't you just give me other artefacts here? Or just tell me what happened?"

"Visas believes that it's necessary for you to follow the same path as your mother. But we should discuss this later, in the afternoon when everyone can meet together. In the meantime, can I show you around the ship?"

The tour is extensive, and fascinating. I've never been in a ship this size. The ship is littered with many small rooms filled to the brim with people. The halls in between are small too, all in grey metal, blocky and functional, and yet beautiful in the clarity of their purpose. Little robots plot crazy paths between the multitudes of feet, somehow finding paths amongst the multitudes of uncompromising, yet accidental hazards. Conversation is everywhere, but muted, leaving room for the commands that ring out from time to time.

The memories I've shared have only covered portions of ships. It's only during this three hour tour, when we walk from one end to the other, and cover many of its vertical levels, that I finally understand the size and feel of a ship of this size. _What must it be like on some of the bigger ships?_ _And how big will the ships be that we use to transport over half a billion people?_

Afterwards, Atton joins us for a quick lunch in the forward dining area. It's there that Visas find us, sipping our cups of kaffa together after we've finished eating.

"Your mate wants to see you," she says to me without preamble. "I've invited her to join us in my chambers."

"My what…?" I stutter.

"She who left her tales to join yours."

"Atris is not my mate."

"Mical will show you the way," Visas smiles, walking away.

We watch her go, our eyes drawn without volition, but certainly willingly, to the sway of her hips. None of us moves until she's out of sight, though the Disciple turns his head away to scan the room.

"The problem with that one is that, unlike the _Ebon Hawk_, her hull and weaponry get better with age. C'mon, let's go see your mate."

"She's not my mate," I repeat.

"Fool yourself all you want, but when her high priestess says it, you might as well start up your engines, because your ship's going into sweet folds of dark space."

The Disciple sighs and I shrug, wishing my face was not so hot.

Atton claps me on the shoulder. "You got to spend that fuel while it's still hot, kiddo. Worry about the consequences when you get to his age," he nods at the Disciple. "Or not."

The Disciple smiles politely, a mask for both his resignation and his amusement. We leave the canteen, falling into silence as we move towards higher levels in the ship.

"Having the Force frackin' around your insides," Atton says after a while, his voice surprisingly… compassionate, "is like having one of the Hutt's "special" fuel in your ship tanks. You can do unbelievable cannock shit when it works, but you never know when it's all going to blow. Now, if you're a smuggler, no one minds because if we become space dust, because it's usually only us that's hurt. But when you're a Jedi, well…"

I think of what happened between Revan, Malak, Bastila, and my mother… of the pain they gave each other, of how their relationship influenced the course of the galaxy, and of how many people died or were saved just because they existed. Even now their story drags the rest of us along, even though Malak is dead, my mother perhaps as well.

"And this is where you tell me how much more volatile we are when we throw love into the mix, right?"

He shrugs. "What's the point? It doesn't stop us, especially now, with no masters watching our every move. Have to say that I'm glad that I wasn't a Jedi then. I can't think of anything that would make my lightsabre droop faster than an old, disapproving fart who can see through walls."

I laugh, catching the image of Vrook on the perimeter of his mind. "What happened to him and the other masters anyway?"

Atton grimaces, then looks at the Disciple, who shrugs. Turning back to me, Atton says, "Kreia killed them all on Dantooine, to save your mother."

"Oh… how did she do that?" The Kreia I had known from the memories of the crew had been growing more powerful, but I had never felt she was strong enough to take on several top Jedi masters.

"Don't know. After she was done, she came back and tossed us around a bit, then took off with the Last Handmaiden. Now that's was a Jedi gone wrong, even for a Sith. She's laid more plots than a cannock shits, and I doubt even she knew what she really wanted."

"At first, she wanted her power back, which she thought she could regain through my mother's jewellery. I think she was also hoping that the same jewellery could be used to empower others."

"You've been in that old minnock's mind? Frack, kid, that's more Jedi than I ever want to be."

I shrug.

"What the frack don't you know, kid?"

"Lots," I shrug. "Most things, really. What happened to Kreia afterwards?

"I don't know that either. Only your mother knows, I think, though Visas may have seen something too. She isn't talking, though."

We walk in silence a bit more, until we come to the hangar where _The Bent Lekku_ rests. I've never had much chance to examine it from the outside. It's black, so dark that I feel like it's engaged in a battle with the lights around the room, eating up that which carelessly reveals it to undeserving eyes. Its deadly weapons are hard to see as well, tucked closely now into folds in the ship's body.

"Nice ship," Atton says quietly. "Yours or your friend's?"

"Yuthura's."

"Suits her, I think. No flash, all business. C'mon, it's not far to her Priestess' lair. She likes having a view of space."

The corridors grow quieter as we progress towards what I think is the side of the ship; even Bao-Dur's small machines become more infrequent. I look at Atton, who grins quietly but does not look at me as we continue. And then we come to a set of double doors, plain and yet shrouded in something grand that the eye cannot see, but the senses know is there.

"We call it the Temple," Atton smirks, "but not when she's around."

"Is she really your priestess?"

"Not mine, but—"

The door opens, interrupting Atton, and Visas sways through them. To my surprise, she pulls close to Atton, her fingers touching his lips lightly, silencing the words he already knew to still.

Visas' head turns to face me. "Enter," she says softly, "and speak to your historian. And Toxel, follow your heart."

Visas uses the Force to close the door behind me softly when I enter. Her room is simple. There are no furnishings in the central room, save for a holographic table that emerges from the floor as we enter, its displaying lighting up to reveal a star map. Simple, flat cushions decorate the sides of the big square room and a longer cushion leans against the centre of the left wall is likely Visas' bed. The far wall is a big window which looks into empty space, surprising given the multiple layers of armour and jury rigged attachments for the smaller ships accompanying the Mandalorian destroyer. Atris stands there, her gaze towards the stars. Despite the simple blue dress she wears, to my eyes she's another star against the dark beyond, beautiful and distant.

"Toxel," she sighs softly as I approach. "I'm supposed to be dead."


	14. Chapter 14

**Atris: Chapter 14**

A/N: Yep, it was another long break in between chapters. This one's short. Another, almost complete one to follow up shortly.

.-.-.-..-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

**One day after Toxel and Yuthura join _The__ Tulden_**

"Toxel," Atris sighs softly as I approach. "I'm supposed to be dead."

_Should__ I __approach __her__ or__ stay__ away? _Her face is turned away and her stance shows nothing but quiet reflection. Her feelings are hidden deep behind shields different than those I have sensed in her before, not hostile, but immense and unapproachable like the glacier-ridden mountains of Telos.

"It was supposed to be my way out," she continues after a while, her voice jarringly calm. "I always dreamed of being part of a tale, one of bravery and daring. And that moment on Dantooine, as unplanned as it was, was going to be it. I would demonstrate how I felt, then escape the consequences of that admission as well as my betrayal of my peers through glorious sacrifice. I might have even found a place in the histories that will surely follow your exploits." She sighs, "I was looking forward to it."

Her face turns sideways, and a small, brief smile lifts the corners of her mouth, though her eyes are sad. "Instead, here I am, revived by you and captured and constrained by your allies," she says, tugging lightly at a light grey collar around her neck that I hadn't noticed. There's something about it that turns the eye away, like the armour on Yuthura's ship.

"Instead of being peacefully dead," Atris sighs, her hand dropping to her side again, "I'm faced with the same difficult choices that have been facing me since Telos, when you shattered my carefully constructed distance."

"You saved me too," I say, taking a step forward. "Wasn't that a choice?"

"A small one…" she starts to say, then pauses. Her hands twitch at her side, they want to move, but she stills them. She turns fully towards me, her eyes meeting mine briefly, then looking down. A faint blush now colours her cheeks, the colour of a sunset on fields of snow.

"It should be a big one," she admits, "but I cannot betray those to whom I've sworn allegiance and secrecy. Dire oaths and compulsions restrict what I can say. And when my peers find me, they will compel my obedience, and then you will either die or have to kill me."

"Nothing is certain. Not even Revan can fix the outcomes."

Atris says nothing, staring at me with blue eyes, ice softened by a reflection of blue sky.

I sigh. "So that's a Force collar?"

Atris nods and her body settles, just a little bit.

"How can you even interact with one of those on?"

Atris shrugs. "Visas says it was modified by a technician you would know, an Iridonian named Bao-Dur. She says he modified it to allow me to interact and still be disconnected from the Force. Apparently, it's something he learned from studying your mother and her Force bonds."

She tugs at the collar a bit, pulling it away from the skin of her neck. "I must admit that it's intriguing. "I cannot sense my peers right now, but… that does not reassure me. My peers understand the Force in ways that no one else does. They will find me soon enough."

Competing desires war within me. There are so many questions I want to ask her and yet they feel empty, words whose meaning is not of knowledge but only to fill the distance between us, the unspoken silence that she places there to bar me from getting closer to her. And yet, I know of no way to breach the resistances she places between us, a product of some womanly or scholarly power beyond my ability to decipher. And so, questions are what I ask, knowing that they are doomed to failure, though a more gentle one.

"How many of them are there? How powerful are they compared to Revan or Bastila. Is your connection to them tied to those tattoos on your back?"

"I cannot answer those questions, Toxel."

"Is it some form of compulsion or an oath you choose not to break?"

Atris says nothing, her silence three-fold: voice, body, and mind.

"Why did you help me before? Why did you stop me from leaving Dantooine, when your masters clearly wanted me dead?"

Atris sighs. "That ship likely posed a minimal risk to you, given how powerful you are. I don't know why I acted as I did. I think I underestimated you again."

"The assassins they sent meant business."

Her head snaps up, an unanticipated crack in the futile ritual. "What do you mean? What assassins?"

Atris listens intently as I describe the four assassins who attacked me on Dantooine, how they drew away my strength from me as we fought, and how I was lucky to defeat them.

Atris turns from me when I'm done, moving back to the window where she silently examines the stars. The shields around her mind are still strong, but now I recognize the differences between it and her own defences. There is a strange twisting to them that doesn't so much block the Force as misdirect it, creating a void that the Force cannot see. It reminds me of my mother. _Perhaps__ Bao-Dur__ learned__ something__ from__ her__ that __he__ put __in to__ this__ technology._

"I knew some of the others disagreed with my slower approach," she says finally, "but I hadn't thought they would move so soon."

"Why would they act without telling you, first? Shouldn't you feel it through your connection with them?"

She doesn't answer, just stares out the window, her hands clasped together in front of her.

_How __quickly __we__'__re __back __to __this._ I want to shake her, somehow break open the prison around her, but I know that would just make it more difficult, her resistance supported by the guilt I would feel for treating her so.

"Doesn't this mean that they mistrust you?" I say slowly. I may not get answers, but perhaps asking the questions will lead me to insights that silence will not. "If so, why protect them?"

Again, I'm greeted by her silence. My heart hammers in my chest, anticipating the unthinking steps, one, then two and three, that I take to move beside her, joining her beside the window, just within the space of an extended touch. Our close proximity only highlights how distant she seems, and yet it frees something up inside me.

"I don't suppose you can tell me who they are," I ask.

The sudden laughter seems to burst out of Atris and I join her, but it doesn't last long. She wraps her arms around herself, and I can sense the small shiver within her, as if our brief moment of warmth has only made the prison's coldness starker.

"Why are you still talking with me," she asks quietly. "Why did you save me? I turned you away and… you must have sensed that I was a threat."

"Atris… I have seen it happen before. Malak, Xi Lan, they never stopped loving one another even when each chose Revan over the other. Malak never truly gave up on Revan either."

"Malak and Xi Lan were honest and loyal people. You have a big heart like they did."

I shrug. She keeps her gaze down and her hands slide softy down to her robes again. There, her hands steal past her habitual control, grabbing and then playing with the folds of her dress. Perhaps I do something as well, but I cannot focus on anything but her.

"How do we do this," I ask finally.

Her hands release her dress, stiffly, her fingers freezing as soon as the dress drops from them. Underneath them, her dress does not fall straight, the creases from her wringing too strong for gravity.

"I was supposed to ask that question," she says, her voice soft. Silence, softer this time, easier to wait through until she continues, "I don't know."

Instincts intervene again, as I move quickly forward, grasping her hands in mine. She starts, begins to pull them from mine, then stops, frozen between two vulnerabilities: being touched and revealing the impact of that touch by forcing her hands from mine.

"Atris," I say, staring at the eyes that are fixed outside, "I am a creature of love and betrayal. I have been raised in it every day of my life. I do not think there is any being in this galaxy who knows betrayal better than I, and how love can persist despite it. Malak, Revan, Bastila, my mother. You. And now me, too, I suppose."

I take a deep breath. Atris says nothing, does not move. I'm not sure if she's even breathing.

"We _can_ do this, Atris."

A tear, clear and brilliant, falls down Atris' cheeks, the only thing about her that moves. "I was always prepared to betray you, Toxel. I believe I still will, even though I no longer condone it. You deserve better," she whispers.

"I think you underestimate what you and I and all the others here can do. And even if you are right… well," I shrug, "betrayal is part of love. Sometimes it's accidental and sometimes it's deliberate. Mostly it's small and sometimes it's big. Worst case scenario is…" I pause, trying to think of one that sounds acceptable.

Atris pulls her hands from mine. "The worst case scenario is that we'll both be dead and your mother's mystery unsolved," she says harshly.

"Yes," I say. "That would be it. And yet, it's not really that bad, is it? It's a lot better than if Malak had won, no? Or if my mother had lost control of Al'keh. And I think it would be worse if we do nothing, living life knowing that we didn't try for something better."

Atris' eyes are burn me with their scrutiny. I say nothing, my silence not by choice but by my inability to find any more words that I can delude myself will work.

Finally, Atris sighs, then says quietly:

"_My fingers tingle, eyes dried by departing tears  
My heart drums an unsteady, waiting beat,  
Even the wind hesitates, frozen at the crossroads  
Where will you take me, my frozen feet?_

_You, twinkled eyes remembered, now hidden  
Like fireflies in the mist, laughter comes and goes  
Where are you, I should know where to find you  
Step forward carefully, and follow what you don't know."_

Atris' steps towards me, her hands reaching up to cup my face, awkwardly, a bit hard, both tender slap and aching touch. A shiver runs through her and I can feel the twitch, the instinctive withdrawal, and the hesitant will that keeps her hands in place.

"Are you sure," she asks, her wet eyes searching me. "Are you _really_ sure? This collar is working for now, but I do not think it will do so forever."

"I liked your poem."

"It's Riolt, the Rodian poet."

"He also said, 'pain feeds when the eye is diverted.'"

"So wise," she whispers, "for one so—"

I cut her off, stepping, finally and almost too late, into my full self, my words firm and backed up by a confidence I did not know I had. "I am _not_ young, Atris. This man standing before you, with his youthful looks, is a lie. Through my power, I have lived as long as you have, Atris, and I have seen war and brutality, hate and great friendship, loyalty and betrayal. I have been immersed in the worse personal violations, seen the deaths of worlds and have experienced what it is like to persevere against the odds. I have felt love and consummated it. And now, I have fought off your assassins and set myself against your mysterious and dark group. _I__ am__ not__ young_."

Her eyes grow larger, unexpectedly softer, and her posture shifts, in a way too subtle for me to describe but easy enough to understand. I pull her close to me, hugging her to me. She stiffens, then something breaks and suddenly she's clinging to me as if behind her a bottomless cliff yawns.

I don't know how long we stand there. Though it can't be long, it's enough, its duration beyond the measure of any clock. Finally, and too soon, she pulls her face from my wet neck and looks me in the eyes. Her expression is serious, but it's not the scholar who's studying me.

I smile and wink at her, and her brows start to wrinkle. "I may even be older than you."

A slow, shy smile lifts the corners of her mouth. "I've always thought that I had never been young. Now I see that I've never been anything but."

"Shh… Atris, stop trying to find a way to put yourself down. You are just you. You just have to accept it."

"As you've accepted your own legacy?"

It's my turn to smile. "Yes, about five seconds ago."

She laughs again, and I feel a pulse of golden heat flare where are bodies meet, and then move deeper, connecting our bodies in a sudden surge of heat. Her smile falters, her eyes flick away from me, but then she musters her will and meets my gaze again.

"So what now," she asks. "How do we stop me from killing you and otherwise being a nuisance?"

I want to kiss her, and more, but this time I resist instinct. "As an experienced male with a young, inexperienced body, my only plans are the ones you don't want to hear right now."

She shakes her head, but the soft smile breaks almost before it begins. "Toxel," she starts, but my finger stills her next words, clearing the way for my lips to touch her damp cheek. The shiver I feel in her breaks my heart.

"Stop thinking, Atris. What we have here, now… this is a gift. Tomorrow will take care of itself."

Atris takes a deep breath, then quickly pecks my lips. She shivers again, but the tentative smile afterwards is genuine. "I think we're supposed to let the others in, now," she says, stepping away from me, the space between us suddenly empty. "I will go. It's better that you choose carefully what you tell me."

I sense what she's guessed, that others wait outside Visas' door. Visas can make the others wait, and I very much want to remain with Atris, but her body seems to lean towards the door and her soul is already half-departed. She needs time, I sense, and though I hate it, I think I need it too. And she's right about the strategic considerations as well.

"Okay," I say releasing her hands. "Dinner, tonight."

She nods, then walks quickly to the door, and then out of it, sliding through the men and women who fill the hallway like a cold wind, past them before they can even step back. Their eyes follow her, briefly save for a tall, white Echani whose eyes linger far longer than the rest. She's almost through when she comes to Atton, leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed and his eyes studying her with habitual and distracted interest. She stops, and I can feel panic welling inside her. Atton's eyebrows come together and I can sense his attention beginning to focus on her, but then she's gone, her mind pushing his away so hard he starts to lose his balance. Visas is there almost instantly, and yet is unhurried as she steadies him with a light touch on his arm. Atton frowns as his mind re-focuses, and he starts to turn towards the corridor where Atris fled.

"Not now," I sense rather than hear Visas say, her hand now touching his chin, lightly pulling on it.


	15. Chapter 15

**I WILL LIVE: PATTERNS OF BETRAYAL AND REDEMPTION III **

**Chapter 15**

**One day after Toxel and Yuthura join _The__Tulden_**

"Not now," I sense rather than hear Visas say, her hand now touching his chin, lightly pulling on it.

"Who hasn't been wounded by the blasted wars," Atton grumbles, still looking down the corridor. He gives up though, allows her to turn him back towards the room. "Show's over you blasted jawa," he snorts when he sees that everyone is watching their little drama.

Visas smiles, then slides through the crowd, drawing everyone's attention with her, deliberately, using the Force so subtly I doubt anyone notices. But I can now, my senses growing again. It's as if my moment with Atris has opened up something in me, just as I have learned thing by seeing my mother's experiences, and those of so many others.

Visas smiles at me as she passes, and I smile back, enjoying how her luxurious walk no longer affects me.

The others follow her, with the Echani in the lead as she approaches me. She is as tall, white, and brisk as she was fifteen years ago. She looks almost the same as in the memories, but she moves with grace that has gone far beyond her training. Her hair, clothing, and skin are all white, her clothes simple and functional. Her eyes search mine, as do her senses, and then she nods. "Your family never ceases to surprise," she says, her smile bright and surprisingly warm as she extends her hand. "I am Brianna."

"Toxel." She nods, then leaves. Everything about her speaks of quiet confidence born of hard won victories. She wraps up the Disciple, who's frowning at Atton and looking down the corridor where Atris went. He nods at me over his shoulder as she pulls him away towards the table, then gives away the last of his dignity, his face turning lightly red as Brianna kisses him lightly on the cheek. As they sit down, Atton passes behind them, smirking and rolling his eyes when he catches my gaze.

I turn back to the others, trying not to smile. Two people in armour approach me next, their helmets off and tucked under their arms. The first one is an older human, his Mandalorian armour a shining grey. He's perhaps the same age as my father when my mother traveled with him. Standing as tall as Atton, his hair and beard are iron grey, and his face weathered brown by harsh climates and wrinkled with lines of smiling. To my surprise, he wears no weapons. His dark brown eyes twinkle as they walk over, while his companion's eyes probe me.

"Bralor," he says, shaking my hand and then raising his fist to his opposite shoulder. "I tested your mother's fighting skills on Dxun and she… showed me a wisdom." He searches my eyes, silently, for a count much longer than is comfortable to the point where I feel everything about my face: the urge to turn my gaze, to not blink, to do something that breaks this moment or to fake some strength to hide my feelings. I take deep breaths instead, letting myself settle towards that still place within me where battle finds me.

"What do you see," I ask finally.

Bralor smiles, combining both grim approval and a humour that seems younger, perhaps even newly discovered. "I see your mother and father in you, and expect you will prove as formidable as either of them. I would like to learn more about your skill later, if you don't mind."

"I would like that," I say and he nods, then turns, gestures to his companion, who removes his helmet to reveal a dark skinned, older Iridonian, wearing an equally polished suit of Iridonian battle armour. His eyes are light blue, almost as clear as Brianna's. He's tall and broad and looks as much a warrior as I've ever seen anyone look. His skin is a greenish brown, smooth though my senses tell me that he is as old as Bralor. Certainly, his confidence matches that of the Mandalorian. Unlike his counterpart, he wears a blaster pistol and a large sword slung across his back.

"This is Deros," he says." He was formerly a General in the Republic army and a true warrior such as Malak was." Deros frowns, and Bralor continues quietly to him, "Malak was a warrior without peer whose skill extended far beyond what Jedi abilities he had. He was also a true companion of both Revan and Toxel's mother before he became a—"

"He was always true," I interrupt, "and he fell because he could not choose between them."

Deros frowns. "Did he not betray your mother in the end," he asks, "to follow Revan?"

_How __can __I __explain__ something__ like __this __to __someone __who __has __never __touched __the __Force?_ "He faced an impossible choice, and in the Force it split him in two. The man who followed Revan after Malachor V was half of a loyal man following his friend down a path beyond his ability to take. The other half was…" I take a deep breath, shrug. "He was stretched between his other half and my mother, unable to leave either."

Deros' frown starts to grow, but then Bralor slaps him hard across the shoulders. "Don't go down there, my friend. Where Jedi explain the Force, let no true warrior tread." Turning to me, Bralor continues, "Deros and I are trying to put some semblance of an army into this motley group."

Deros still frowning, turning his gaze from Bralor to me and then to the others around the room. Shaking his head, he pushes frustration and doubts aside, the suppression of the feelings following old tracks of discipline, returning back to the more comfortable role of general.

"Our current count of soldiers," the Iridonian says, "stands at just more than two hundred and seventy five million soldiers. We also have approximately three hundred million civilians, about half of whom have had some militia training and experience. We are a surprisingly formidable military force."

"Is our army adopting any particular type of armour?" I ask, glancing at his, then Bralor's armour.

"No, we do not have the resources to make new armour for all those who come. Most wear whatever they bring with them. But I have switched back." He pauses, then smiles, his eyes and face settled into the bland yet hard expression of the professional soldier. "Iridonian armour is stronger than most and its reputation helps me keep the troops in line. Besides, I no longer represent the Republic."

I nod. "It's good to meet you both." Deros glances briefly at Bralor and I wonder if I should say more, but Bralor simply nods at me before he gestures for Deros to precede him to the table. The two find their seats at the far end.

"Let's get started," the Disciple says. Visas is on the other side of him and I sit myself opposite them. Atton has settled to my left, and Bralor and Deros are to my right. It seems like a small group to be making plans for half a billion people.

"You've all met Toxel now and have read the briefing holos describing his background and recent journeys. Now, we need to get his mission completed and apparently someone wants to stop him."

"So you don't know who tried to stop us at Nar Shadaa," I ask the Disciple.

"Honestly? No. We know that someone's been watching us, but that's was no surprise given how many people have been making their way to us. But for someone to act now… it seems strange given that we should pose no threat to them."

"That's assuming" the Last Handmaiden says, "that they believe we will leave instead of trying to take over the Republic. Given how weak it still is, we could be quite a threat."

"Even if we are not," Deros says, standing up, "we are taking many soldiers with us, which only makes the Republic more vulnerable.

The Disciple shakes his head. "The Republic could replace us easily within a year, if it had the will. That's why the Mandalorians set out to break us. Otherwise, the Republic would always win, through simple attrition."

We all pause at that. Bralor shakes his head, muttering under his breath, "what a terrible way to win a war."

"It's not the Republic that fears us, but those that set its direction." I tell the others briefly about the attack on Dantooine, and the images I drew from the minds of the attackers.

"So why would ancient Sith or Jedi care whether we leave," Deros asks.

Atton's brows knit together. "No Hutt can survive long if he can't keep his thugs in order."

"When one fights," Bralor adds, "the focus should be on defeating the enemy. Disunity about the goals speaks of weakness, especially when its handling is undisciplined."

"So…" the Disciple sighs, "What we want, say, or do does not really matter then. It's the fact that we are leaving at all that threatens them. Whole star systems left them during the wars, and the Republic is still trying to get some of them back into the fold. What will those systems and others say if the Republic cannot hold onto its army?"

"There will be hair pulled out," Atton scoffs, "instead of healthy drinking, and deep, dark secrets will be searched and probed instead of the local bar girls. It's their frackin' nightmare."

"The space battle outside of Nar Shadaa certainly didn't help," Deros adds.

"If stopping us is their purpose, then it will help them portray us as an enemy and send millions more to die…" the Last Handmaiden shakes her head. "Poor tired soldiers, dragged into war on both sides just because some of us wanted to leave this fruitless turmoil."

The room falls into silent thought, save Atton who shifts restlessly in his seat, trying to hold back his smirk as he contemplates the serious faces around the table. Visas leans over, taps him lightly on the cheek, a mock slap that he tracks with playful disdain as it descends. The Disciple smiles softly, and Atton scowls when he sees.

"What if we disband," Deros asks.

I consider it, with my mind as well as the Force. I shake my head. "I think that won't make a difference. Your army is just an excuse. The true enemy they fear is my mother."

Deros frowns. "Why? She's only one woman, and she's no Revan."

"You are right, and wrong," Mical says. "Toxel's mother held together the Republic army until Revan could implement his strategy. And many say that Revan betrayed her because she threatened his hold on the army."

"She still holds the death of worlds within her," Visas says.

"Malachor was Revan's doing," Mical says frowning. "Xi Lan did not know what he intended."

"Nor was she responsible for my world," Visas responds, "nor the others which Darth Nihilus consumed, and yet all that died when those planets were broken came to rest within her. What could she have done, had she willed it?"

_Darth__ who? _I wonder. _Later._

"Or simply let go," I say instead, remembering what I had seen within her, what she had almost released when she met Atris on Telos. Tiny points of light filling the sky, each linked to the others by impossibly thin, shining threads. And within them, something that could not be grasped, something more profoundly empty than even the deepest reaches of space in between the stars. "There were a lot of souls within her. They were all connected, a web surrounding Al'keh."

Deros and Bralor frown, looking at my mother's companions, but none notice, each lost in their own thoughts. "What is this Al'keh?" Bralor finally asks me, his respectful voice drowned out by the doubts I feel within him. "Toxel… sorry, Toxel's father, Toxel, said that she had been changed and that she was Feynar, but he mentioned nothing of this Al'keh before he died."

The Disciple shakes himself out of his reverie. "When the Mass Shadow Generator was activated, it breached the gap between our universe and something else. We all felt it, a little, through the bonds between the Exile and ourselves. What I felt was unending hunger."

"And I sensed nothingness," Visas says, her face for once without that knowing expression, "the kind that we can't capture in words nor understand, because in our universe there is always something even in the darkest places."

Deros turns his head away, his body stiff with the derision he tries futilely to hide. Bralor opens his mouth, and we all sense the platitudes that will come.

"Frack," Atton kicks in, scowling. "Guys, you know I hate Jedi speak… It's like trying to play pazaak with Bontha: you never know whether a card or crap is going to hit the table. But here it is... What was before all this…?" he waves his hands around everywhere, ending by gesturing outside where the stars shine in the darkness. "What's outside the edge of the universe? It's hard to imagine, right… like a Twi'lek virgin. Well, that's what I sensed," he throws his hands up, then stands up and starts pacing. "So, can we move on now, before I start drinking heavily?"

"Okay," Deros sighs, "so basically they want to get her before she takes out everything? Because they believe and so do you that she's still alive despite having being buried all this time. But if she's that powerful, what could they do?

"But that doesn't make sense," the Disciple says, leaning forward, "She would never use it like that."

"But only we know that," Brianna says, "and there's no reason for them to believe it. If Toxel is right and they have been guiding the Republic in the shadows, then they live in a world where power is used to rule. It would be easy for them to assume that others would act the same."

"Could she control it," Bralor asks. "You know, like wipe out a fleet without taking out everything else?"

"I don't know," the Disciple says. "I doubt she's ever even considered it."

"So they think we've got the ultimate weapon and we don't even have frack," Deros says.

"A breath of wind at the wrong time can snarl the most carefully constructed web," Visas says quietly.

Atton harrumphs, and I almost laugh, seeing the grumpy man that he's becoming, and enjoys being, as he gets older. He scowls at me and then at Mical and Brianna as they cover their mouths. "You're all thinking like soldiers," he says. "These schutta are like Hutts in a swamp, a whole cabal of dark Jedi arguing over who's going to chew on our bones when they're done with us."

"A cabal…" Light sparkles in my thoughts, as the pieces start to come together. "I was wrong… It's not my mother they're afraid of... it's you," I continue, looking from the Disciple, to Brianna, to Visas and Atton. "They're afraid of you. All of you together. You were linked together, capable. You have proven yourself of taking on the strongest powers. They worry about what you will do if my mother is alive—"

"Oh, that's just great," Atton mutters.

The Disciple's blond brows furrow together. "They think we're going to challenge them? We've never sought power, and always stood for the light…"

"Toxel is the son of Xi Lan, and an unknown," Brianna says, the steepled hands in front of her reminding me of the Disciple. "And he is visiting the same planets as his mother, gathering new and powerful friends like the former Sith Yuthura Ban and potentially corrupting one of their own allies, Atris. It sounds like all of the stories in which the hero finds herself and gains ability and fame."

"And why else would anyone face such opposition or go to such great lengths. Power and the powerful never believe that others seek goals beyond power and influence." He sighs, then continues. "Oh, when you point that finger at me, it's your reflection in the mirror you see."

Atton places his head in his hands. "Death by bad poetry or evil force users who think we're like them. I'm going to the bar…" Atton backs up his words by sauntering out of the room, everyone else watching him go, none of us really believing that he'll really leave until it's too late.

After that, the others start discussing how we must prepare as if the full might of the Republic might be brought down on us. It's a sombre discussion, full of plans to keep the battles away from civilized planets and estimations of the fatalities that we will suffer should the war become protracted.

I sit and listen, not feeling confident enough to intervene. After all, I'm still young and these people don't know me. But then, as elaborate plans build for how they will get me to Dxun, Telos, and Malachor V, I have this sense of something building, growing larger, indomitable, a stampede of Bontha trampling all on its way to the edge of a cliff, and beyond. And that is not what my quest is supposed to be about. It was supposed to be quiet, a personal trip to revive or at least find out more about my mother.

_So why is everything so inevitable?_

"What do you mean, Toxel," Visas asks, her hot breath tickling my ear, startling me with its sudden proximity. Around the table, the conversation continues without us. _How__ does__ she __do __that?_ My shields feel solid and my lips hold no memory of speaking. I look at her, seeking answers in her face, but she just smiles, revealing nothing but her amusement.

I sigh, try to sort out my thoughts, even as the room grows increasingly silent as each person realizes that Visas stands above me, waiting for something.

"Okay," I say finally, "I guess it comes down to one question: Why must we tread this path of confrontation? Why can't we just grab my mother and go?"

"That's two questions," Atton says from the doorway, smirking as he steps back into the room with two large mugs of Hilli dark ale. "Looks like I arrived just in time," he continues, plopping one of the mugs in front of me.

"Such quests are always part of one's journey to power," the Disciple says as I take a sip of the ale, its rich, bitter taste settling my nerves. "Revan visited several planets as he regained his power after the Council replaced his memories. Your mother and the rest of us had to travel across the galaxy to discover the knowledge we needed to face our enemies. Other heroes have done the same and through the trials they have gained the knowledge and experience they needed. And you will need such strength and wisdom if you are to lead us in our exile."

"Why? Why do I need to be powerful to lead this armada? Clearly, we already have several very competent people," I say, sweeping my arm to indicate the people around the room. "What great enemy will we face that requires someone more than what we have here?"

"Your leadership has been foretold by the Mandalorians," Visas says, her sultry voice now that of the priestess she has become, "and I have seen it too. And many come seeking the same solace and wisdom in our armada that we found with your mother."

"My mother never sought power. It was against her nature and training to do so."

"And yet, she did become very powerful through her journeys," the Disciple says, his blond brows scrunching together as he steeples his hands in front of him, like one of those old school teachers found on planets lacking access to the galaxy net. "And it was only through her power that we came through in the end."

"Was it really power?" Brianna muses, rubbing her face with her fingers, her jaw cupped in her hand. "None of us were there in her last battles, when she took on the Jedi Masters, Darth Nihlus, Atris, Sion, and finally Kreia. She said she had to do something we couldn't do, and I've always believed that she was wrong about that. I've always believed that we _were_ strong enough then. But now… I wonder if she was ever talking about strength…"

_How__ many__ battles __was __my__ mother__ forced __into?_ My instincts reject the long list, though I can think of no reason for the Last Handmaiden or the others to lie.

The Disciple and Brianna start discussing whether Brianna's point could be true, and what it might mean. Deros grimaces, then quickly hides it as he says, "I'm going to get a kaffa. Anyone else?" No one responds, the rest of us following the conversation, the Disciple now giving an example, talking about how she had sliced through battles on Onderon when the rest of them had become bogged down in the fighting, marking each point with a raised finger. Apparently, there had been a rebellion there against the rule of the planet that my mother and the rest had stopped.

Brianna then counters, reminding the Disciple about the training sessions on board the ship, more like meditations than battle training. She describes to him, and to the rest of us, how those sessions felt, about how they awakened her to the Force and to her connection with the others in the group. Atton scowls when they look at him and Visas stares off towards the window, her face peaceful, but her hands rubbing the fabric of her dress on her thighs back and forth repetitively.

My own memories and experiences of my mother's training sessions float in my mind, starting with the ones I had seen her do with Mical and Brianna, and then drifting backwards to earlier ones with Revan and Malak, and then those she did by herself, naked under the sky, a chorus of life force dancing around her like Tatooine fireflies in the darkening sky of night.

In that drifting, I hear a silence and in that silence, a story rising unbidden and untold to the surface of a mind.

At first, I think it's from Atton, but it's the usual litany of bland facts that I sense there. He's gazing out the window into space, shuffling a deck of pazaak cards blindly and with one hand, using a technique I've never seen before and vow I will try to master soon. Visas is quiet too, but her focus is back on the debate, her mind idly testing its ideas with her own memories, composed of the familiarly strange sensations I've almost grown used from the previous times I touched her mind. She turns a little towards me, a slight smile on her face still, and nods.

I turn to Bralor next, and the sense of story grows stronger. He's stroking his chin, his eyes up and to the left, and I sense a remembered dance of battle, that special relaxation that precedes the explosion, the focus that is razor sharp and yet takes in everything. His eyes flick to mine, as if he senses my scrutiny.

"Toxel and I are going for a walk," Bralor says, standing abruptly, catching the falling chair with a careful flick of his heel before it hits the ground. The Disciple frowns as he studies Bralor and then me. Visas smiles when the Disciple glances at her, now enigmatically. Atton winks when I look at him.

"You blonds are both wrong," he says to his companions, pushing his hair back. "You're thinking too much like a historian," he points at the Disciple, "and you too much like a warrior, Echani," he tells Brianna next. "Xi Lan was certainly no historian and she doesn't think like you."

The argument builds from there, Bralor and I forgotten. I follow the Mandalorian out of the room. We walk in silence until we are well away from the meeting room. Bralor pulls me right, into a smaller corridor that I do not recognize. At its end, he opens a door into a small lobby. The room is plainly adorned, a few simple chairs of some red, sleek material whose shine is only slightly aroused by the subdued lighting. The chairs are aligned in a gentle curve facing a wide window at the other end of the room, which look onto a small area whose floor is lined with fighting mats. Czerka-made practice weapons are lined up in a small stand to the right, including mock version of various kinds of axes, swords, lightsabres, and even blasters hanging from the small hooks that dot the frame. The room ends in a large window looking out onto the stars beyond.

"Spar with me," Bralor says. "I need to think."

I sense no hostility in the Mandalorian as he strides onto the mat, only a pent up energy that paces within his calm exterior like a wild malraas in a cage. He stretches quickly, easily, ready and nimble already as only the constantly training can be.

I follow his lead, stretching lightly on the mat, enjoying the feeling. It's been a while since I've really exercised, traveling around as I have. Most of my time has been spent on ships or immersing myself in the memories of my mother and others. I look at Bralor as I do my movements, expecting to see him studying me, but his head is down as he moves from side to side braced by his wide-spread, outstretched legs.

After five minutes, he stands and I follow. I wait, not sure how he wants to proceed. "Choose a weapon," he says after a moment, "and get prepared. Fight me with everything you have."

I walk over to the weapon stand, expecting him to do the same, but he remains where he is as I test the different lightsabre practice sticks, waiting patiently until I find two that feel alright. The first one is slightly longer than I'm used to, but it's got a simple black handle that feels right in my hand and the blade is made of some poly-alusteel that shimmers in a way that reminds me of my lightsabre. The other blade is composed of some natural wood, a mixing and flowing of green and brown colours that produces a dark and smooth finish. It's a bit heavy, but it feels alive to me, full of memories of its own life as well as its previous users, so much so that it takes some effort not to get pulled into the memories contained within it.

I return to the mat, one blade in each hand, and practice moving them together. They are not an easy match, one beautiful yet cold and the other thrumming with life, but as I move through some forms they come together in an uneasy but compelling mix of opposites and a common deadliness. After a few minutes, with the first sheen of sweat cooling my head and neck, I come to a ready position and look at Bralor.

He waits, standing tall, his feet at shoulder width, his muscles relaxed yet ready to explode. He's an impressive figure, strong and clearly quick and yet his body is a distraction from his true talent: focus. I can feel it, sharp, honed like sharp gaze and ready to pierces weaknesses. It's something I have not yet mastered, because my knowledge of it has come through riding my mother in battle. It's a way of seeing the opponent, beyond the weapon and armour they carry, body that drives the fighter, and the will to survive and win. It's seeing them as a whole, knowing who and what they are in a way that goes beyond an understanding that can be expressed in words or a vision in the Force. It is a wisdom in which the fight is choreographed before the first move is made. It is what allows a few, truly skilled Mandalorian fighters to challenge a Jedi despite her powers and precognition.

He lunges at me, his hands grabbing at my arms. I duck to the left, but he's there already, his first move a feint. His hands dig at my arms, but I drop to a low crouch, pulling them out of his grasping fingers, then swinging at his legs with my right weapon. His foot slams into my right forearm, and I almost drop the practice blade, even as I pivot, swinging my left blade up in a diagonal towards his chest, a strike he easily evades by a short, rolling jump over the blade.

A quick exchange follows, Bralor constantly weaving his way towards me, finding ways into my guard, constraining my strokes, forcing me to bob and turn to evade his grappling attempts. I'm breathing heavily soon, my face and body covered in sweat, my arms and legs aching, my heart racing. It feels good, despite the fact that he is winning.

He steps back, wrapping himself in stillness, and I stop the attack I've just started, waiting to see what he will do. "More," he says, "give me all you got, including that Force of yours."

He does not move as I study him, trying to figure out what he's seeking. Some warriors, like Atris' Handmaidens at Telos, develop resistance to certain Force techniques and I wonder if he's the same.

"It's not the time to think, Toxel," he says, then lunges at me.

I push at him with the Force, not using too much strength, just enough to push him back and get him off balance. Or so I thought, but he turns as my power hits him, letting much of the push roll off his shoulder and past him, closing closer to me even as I struggle to get myself focused after my overconfident effort. The battle quickly becomes as entangled as the first, Bralor constantly seeking new angles through my defences, his elbows and feet constantly redirecting my own strikes. This time, he's controlling our direction more, pushing me towards the corners of the map where I can be trapped. Only the Force saves me, pushing him off balance at times, allowing me quick leaps over his head two times as well.

He stops without a word, leaving me panting and suddenly deflated, my swords both high in the air mid-strike. Walking to the end of the mat, he says, "Let's begin again."

And then he stands there, unmoving, as I get into ready position. And he doesn't move as I wait for him, the time growing longer and longer, and without apparent end. His manor is calm, unhurried when I sense him, but my heartbeat quickens and the sweat on my brow turns cold. I can feel him now, inside. He's running our battle through his minds, envisioning the next possible steps I might take, and how he will respond and turn them into victory.

As I touch these thoughts, I can feel defeat forming around me, all options whereby my victory might be achieved being eliminated as he stands there, his breath deep, his focus narrowing. I try to match him, to follow his lead, tucking my blades in my belt, breathing slowly, seeking calm, the empty of mind of Qi that my mother once knew. It eludes me, I have never had the training my mother had in it, only snippets of it from her memory. I know what it should feel like, but my path to it is sporadic, intuitive, a gift given when my life is in danger, and my mother's swords are in my hand.

I think about discarding my weapons, of reaching out with the Force to my mother's weapons where they rest on the nearby table, apparently oblivious to my upcoming defeat. But that would be dishonourable, a cheat in which I found the tools I needed here from another.

_Defeat_. _I__ can__'__t __see__ a __way __to __escape __it..._ _And __why __should __I_, I wonder. _Why__ does __it __matter __if __this __Mandalorian __defeats __me_? There is no logical reason why it should matter. He is a veteran of countless battles and has probably faced and defeated Jedi before. Clearly, he has gained an understanding of battle that I do not possess, one that goes beyond the aided-guidance of the Force to some deeper wisdom, perhaps something similar to what my mother once had before she lost it in the losses and horrors of the wars. _Why __should __I,__still __young__ and __with __little __experience, __be __expected __to __defeat __him?_

And yet, the answer is easy. _I__ can__'__t __give __up__ because__ I__ am__ the__ Champion._ _And __how__ can __I __be __that __when __I __just __give __up __when __the__ odds __are__ against__ me.__ How__ can__ I__ guide__ these __people __when __a __Mandalorian, __no __matter __his __skill, __stills __my __courage __wielding __no __weapons __but __his __will __and__ skill?_

That last thought is the nail in the coffin. I can feel my last option closing, the sense of inevitability becoming an unavoidable certainty. I have lost, my weapons already useless even before we have made our next move.

Bralor stands, unmoving except for the deep breaths that gently rock his body. _Why__ doesn__'__t __he __attack?__Is__ he __waiting__ for __me__ to__ yield?_ I can catch no hint of his intent, of how he feels about my defeat, of anything save that he is ruled by a purpose I can sense but not touch.

_I__ will__ not__ yield_, I tell myself. _I__'__ll__ fight __this__ battle__ in__ the__ best__ way__ I__ can,__ and__ since__ attacking__ means __losing,__ I__'__ll __wait_.

It's hard just standing here, knowing that each moment does not take me closer to victory, waiting for him to claim his victory. I can feel my fear now and my sweat is now a cold sheen that covers my body. Even my muscles tremble, though I have not moved an inch since focused on the match. And my heart, it beats quickly, shallow, like the quick flutter of startled birds. Impossible fatigue is rushing towards my unmoving body, and wildly bobbing soul.

But I refuse to move, though my instincts beg me to just get his horrible battle over with, to initiate the sets of events that will result in the relief of this building sick, tension: a quick, painless defeat. I can feel the explosion of movement building within me, but I refuse it.

My legs grow stiffer, my back aches, it feels like I'm turning to stone. Will the others come search for me, in an hour or two, to find me here, unmoving, rigid, stuck here like some ridiculous statute? What will they say of their Champion, defeated without acting? Will they think that I was too scared to move?

_But __to __act __is __to __be __defeated __and __while __I__ cannot __change __that, __I __will __not __choose__ it._ So I do the only thing I can do, breathe, be still, focus on nothing else but being here. To be like Bralor.

How long do we stand there before the fear starts to recede? How long is it before my breath deepens and my muscles soften just enough so that I can feel myself feet gripping into the floor? How long is it before I can track the fall of a drop of sweat from my brow as it slowly leaves my face, then falls at a leaf's pace towards the ground? How long before everything around me is a part of me, even Bralor, connected by nothing other than existence in the same time and the shared bonds of life? How long before this stillness is painstakingly beautiful?

Bralor moves, his body suddenly hurtling forward, inevitable. I see him, but it's like he's become a river in time. At the beginning, where he was before, still, at peace. Where he is now, halfway to me, rushing, inevitable, a waterfall roaring downwards into the ravine. Where he will be soon, a river crashing into my hapless, waiting self, to toss me around like flotsam in rapids and sweep me away.

I am everywhere and everywhen along that dance and to his river, I become the canoe, floating atop, riding the waves, sliding between the rocks in the rapids, never engaging the crashing blows or driving momentum. The battle becomes one easing, of circling, of a pattern building connecting two dances.

Then it ends, a shattering of connection, a deep breath that stands suddenly alone, a crashing of sound that is jarringly separate from being. Bralor is close to me, breathing deeply. He holds one of my blades to my throat, an interrupted strike that would have crushed my windpipe.

_Defeat_. I feel it crashing down on me. Failure, letting others down, not being able to guide them away from the war that looms over us.

"Toxel," Bralor says, one word, quietly spoken, but unavoidable, pulling me out of my thoughts that circle despair. I look at his face, noticing only then the blade at his throat, following its length, breathing in sharply when I realize that it rests in my left hand.

He lowers his blade, and I follow, trying to remember what happened, not understanding, elated and petrified.

"Breathe," he says, and I do, and as I do, the peace, connection, the flow of time comes back to me and I slip my consciousness back along the river that connects Bralor and I from now until we began the bout. I see the moves, the dance, the sliding of blades and fist, and how quick our dance was, and how slow it was. And I see the sacrifice, the bait I laid, the giving up of the blade, creating and then using the distraction to make my own strike.

"Now grasp my hand," Bralor says, extending his right, armoured gauntlet towards me, its grasp open. I grasp it, gasp when I touch its cool, hard surface, as I'm transported to a memory contained within it.

I see my mother, on green, trimmed fields that struggle upwards against their oppression. Beneath her is weathered ground, the rampant grass flattened down by the abuse of many grinding feet. This ring is but the first of three, the second a circle of warriors gazing silently at my mother and Bralor, who stands opposite her. They are Mandalorian too, their armours weathered and showing signs of constant repair. Each has their helmet on, and yet I can sense their watching, their eagerness for the battle to come, grinning behind metal masks as they anticipate the defeat of an upstart Jedi before their master warrior, the one they think will become the new Champion.

The third ring is comprised of buildings, some small and some large enough to hold space ships. They are all pitted and worn, walls broken by the ravages of war and age. And finally, there is the fourth ring, a dense jungle that seems to pour, slowly but irresistibly into and over the buildings, climbing up its walls, questing into man- and battle-made holes, sometimes creating new ones.

I can feel Bralor's focus sharpening. The weight of his armour, the flush of blood that fills his muscles, feeding them strength, making them ready to leap, the strike of a malraas. I can feel his joy of being in the ring, of the ritual, the testing of limits, of the expression of his true self. His will anchors on the target, becoming clearer, sharper, a weapon of self that needs no physical extension in blade or blaster. The world around grow quiet, still, and unimportant until nothing matters but her, here and now.

Across the ring, my mother is down near the ground, kneeling on one knee, her hand slowly sliding above the ground, caring but not touching, like a mother torn between touching her child and letting it sleep. The derision of the Mandalorians around the ring does not touch her, is blown away by the light breeze that lifts the dirt from the ground, its gentle hissing, light brush over her skin like a child who, asleep, still knows beyond knowing how to shift her body just enough to rest against her parent.

Bralor finds his focus shifting, getting drawn away from the centre he seeks, as if the breeze, the sand, her hands all conspire to slide his _Kre_ past her. Each time he refocuses, it happens again. He's been warned of her slippery fighting, but never knew it could extend into the _Kre-pan_ before the fight.

And then, she moves, standing, turning her face towards Bralor and his _Kre_ finds her again. Inside his helmet, his face turns from brows squeezed together to the comfortable, grim smile of battle. This is what he lives for. Across the ring and within the circle of old friends and warriors tested and untested, scarred and not, my mother stands ready. This battle, between one of the greatest Jedi warrior, he has been training for this since before the Mandalorians were defeated by Revan.

My mother stands relaxed on the other side, her feet at shoulder width, her knees too straight, unready, her arms too straight, hanging downwards, her palms facing towards him, her fingers wide open as if she's praying or dancing. Around her throat is her dark, black hair tied back in the long pony tail she still favours. She's wearing simple clothes, black loose shirt and pants that flap in the wind, waves sliding across their surface from the wind that blows across the field. Earrings tinkle and wave in the wind that blows across the field, the rest hanging heavy around her neck or pierced to her nose. Her face is calm, her grey eyes filled with a soft light that seems to touch everything around her. The force flows around her, coming as close to her as I've ever seen it do since her wounding.

Bralor notices almost nothing of this save her calm and the lack of battle he sees within her. He will crush her in a moment, exploding from the perfect tension he's reached, halfway and more between the stillness of now and the explosion to come. All that he's waiting for, as he always does, is that moment of clarity, when the others' defences drops, when his opponent's will falters, when his attention flicks to something else, when the body grows tired or stiff. It's his key strength, one that has made him the warrior among warriors, second now only to the Mandalore. But how does one find the moment when it's always there. Is she a novice, or is it a trap.

He waits, puzzlement building within him as his _Kre_ starts to falter again, his will slipping past her as if she's not there. Each time, he refocuses, but it's getting harder and harder. His frustration builds, and he calms it, invoking hard-earned discipline, driving his will at her again, sharpening it, stretching and building is will as he responds to this unexpected challenge. _Kre_ is his weapon, sharpened for years to combat the future-reading of the Jedi, the discipline that transcends the physical weapon.

And it's not enough.

I see what he cannot perceive directly. Through my Force senses, it's almost as if she's not there and becoming less and less so by the moment, the movement of the Force around her becoming less and less a re-routing and more and more like the natural course it would follow if she was not present. It's as if it passes through her, as if she was part of the flow, each molecule of her body leaving with the flow and simultaneously replaced by what enters, until there is no sense of where she begins and where the Force ends. It's so like and yet unlike us Jedi, for though the Force flows through us, it's changed by us and we are changed by it. It's almost as if she is the Force, and yet she isn't, she can't be. The wound is still there, within her, and yet it is, in this moment, not here, as much distinct and indistinct as she is. Somehow, she and the wound have become a part of the Force's dance as much as they are separate from it, neither state supposed to be possible. But it accepts her, I sense, sees her as belonging despite her emptiness. Even more, to my wonder, the Force that skims around her is changing, learning, becoming more it was before, becoming more than life.

I can't feel the sense of time around them anymore. It's as if they have moved beyond it. They stand there, unmoving, and unaffected by the growing tension in the others, the fidgeting of growing boredom, the flickering of their flickering attention, all of their unrest nothing to the battle going on, Bralor trying to pin my mother down with his focus even as my mother becomes impossible to contain, like grasping at the wind or sunlight.

The wind dies down as the sun descends, its coming silent save for the increasing muttering of the circle of soldiers. As the sky's red and yellows turn towards the first coming of midnight blue, Xi Lan finally moves, walking forward, jarringly calm, unhurried, like she's starting a stroll. I feel Bralor's attention sharpen, as he seeks the stream of the dance that leads to battle. But he can't find it, and his focus once again slips by my mother, wanders as he grows puzzled, uncertain. There has to be a path, some movement or action that starts the battle, some way to engage, but there is nothing, it's as if he's trying to fight the wind. He can't do anything but stand there as she closes, raises her hand and pushes him gently backwards until he's left the ring.

The silence is broken. Furious words break out among the Mandalorians as they try to determine why Bralor has let his opponent do this and whether he has lost it.

And inside Bralor, I feel disappointment fill him, and anger. He wants to strike her for humiliating him, for defeating him so simply, for making all of his strength an illusion. He tries to raise his fist, to strike her, to wipe that small smile from her face. But he still cannot do it, even the anger he tries to direct at her finds no purchase, slides away from her, flailing, seeking a target. There are so many, each a warrior of his clan, comfortably present, familiar irritants against whom he could pit his skill. But it would be like a hurricane tossing one of those ridiculous umbrellas that humans use to hide from the sun, like a Basilisk striking down a scouting satellite, like a father running through a child to score a goal in a game of Belech. No purpose, a shaming of the victor. These strong warriors who he has trained and pitted himself against, whom he has been call comrades and foes, they seem… insubstantial to him now.

Pulling back his _Kre_ is harder than he expects. Where he thought it was composed of mastery and discipline, he now sees merely direction and sharpness, will made into an iron point, but driven by a fury and frustration that is much a target as a weapon. His drive for mastery, for victory, has a darker, hidden twin, one that fears defeat and irrelevance.

Bralor takes a deep breath, imposing discipline on himself, bringing himself out of a new field of battle he never knew existed and into the present. His eyes find the Exile. She stands, more still than patient, in front of him, her gaze meeting his as if she's been waiting for it, and understands it. There is no smile on her face, but her eyes are filled with light, and darkness, the fit between two surprisingly comfortable.

"How," he asks. The Mandalorians around start to move closer, but he holds up his hand, and exerts his will. They hesitate, feeling his dominant _Kre_, and he feels the familiar rising of _Pre_, pride of mastery rising. But it's hollow, insubstantial now.

"You see it already," Xi Lan says, "though you don't yet walk it."

"Tell me anyway."

"Life is a gift," she says, "that you constantly deny."

"I don't understand," he growls, his brows coming together, frustration still trying to find purchase on her, as unsuccessful as everything else Bralor has tried. "Why can't I hit you, or even be angry at you?"

"When you love, you dance. When you fight, your opponent is always your fear."

Bralor crosses his arms, his frown deepening. "It's not wise to tell a Mandalorian he fears," he growls.

She smiles, her eyes now sad. "I've feared most of my life. You'll find your way."

He wants to understand, to probe more, but he has studied much of the Champion Toxel's writings and those words now are growing within him, taking on new meanings and insights that he can't grasp yet, but that guide him anyway. Some things cannot be explained, only learned. The best questions are the ones that instinct provide.

"Why did you learn this," he asks.

My mother's smile slips, the light in her eyes dims, and sadness finds a grip on her that all his prowess could not. He's asked the right question, gained a small victory, and it pains him even as he counts it, the second lesson today learned in this ring.

"I let another take a piece of me, and now it divides and destroys him. I must take it back, but he will not part with it if I ask. So, I must fight him, and myself, and preserve both." Turning, she walks away, slicing through the muttering Mandalorians as easily as a winter's wind. Bralor watches her silently until she's gone, and then raises his wrist to his mouth.

"Give her whatever she wants," he tells the Mandalore quietly through his wrist comm, even as I return back to the present on _The__ Tulden_.

Bralor is close to me, staring at my face, his eyes masked by the black ferro-glass of his eye-sockets. It's jarring to be looking at him so suddenly, his feelings and expression masked when I was within his head a moment ago.

As if he's read my mind, he takes off his helmet, revealing eyes that stare into my own curiously, the focus I felt before replaced by a distant, normal concern. "Did you see what you needed?" he asks.

"Yes," I respond, moving back a little, feeling freer as I gain some space, "I think so. I saw you facing her in a dueling ring within your camp on Dxun. Is what I felt from you earlier… is that what she did to you?"

"No, though it's something I found as I… _Kre-dunned_ the battle. Sorry, I don't know the Common way of saying it, but it's when you fight the past battle in your mind, again and again until you learn what you need to learn." He pauses, waiting until I nod.

"So I learned," he continues, "to broaden my _Kre_, to stretch it until I can see all the potential paths of the battle. Your mother, sad warrior that she is," he sighs, smiling to take away the sting, "found a way to take away the paths of battle, until there was no battle to be found. That is what I think you saw." Again he waits until I nod, then continues, his smile turning grim. "_That_, young one, is not the way of a Mandalorian. Victory before the battle even begins, on the other hand? that's something every Mandalorian would love to achieve."

"I understand…" I start to say, then pause. Bralor's face is neutral, but I sense his skepticism. And he's right. I've felt their need for battle, especially in my father. But I don't really understand it and why they can't get the same satisfaction out of other activities that don't require others to lose their life. "Well, I understand enough, I guess. I've learned much from your foes and my father's memories."

Bralor considers my words, then nods. "I see Toxel's wisdom in you. I know he's proud of you."

_Know.__ Present __tense_. "Do Mandalorians believe in an afterlife?"

Again, Bralor smiles briefly, a lifting up of the corners of his mouth that lightens his brown, weathered face. "We believe that we come back to fight again, until we've become the perfect warrior. Then, and only then do we move on, to find battles on other planes of existence where challenges remain. But the real answer to your question, young Toxel, is that I believe some part of Toxel is still alive in your mother. I sensed him there, when I _Kre-dunned_ the battle with your mother. I felt his laughter and his satisfaction at her victory. Perhaps this is a result of these Force bonds you Jedi talk about when you discuss Xi-Lan?"

I shrug, suppress the sigh that I think Bralor won't understand. "None of us truly understand what she could do, even the masters who trained her."

Bralor studies my eyes again for a quiet moment, then claps me on the back. "Let's get back, before they… 'send out the search parties' I believe the expression is."

I nod, and we begin walking back in silence towards Visas' room.


	16. Chapter 16

**I WILL LIVE: PATTERNS OF BETRAYAL AND REDEMPTION III**

**Chapter 16**

.

**Three Weeks after Toxel and Yuthura join The Tulden**

Wiping the guck out of my eyes, I wonder what it would be like to wake up with the rise of the sun again. Now, all I have is gray, metallic polymer walls, the sparkling darkness of the stars in the window on the far wall, and the snoring and other sleeping sounds of those who share the room with me.

Stretching my legs slowly on the bed, I glance around at the others sleeping around me. All of them are asleep; people stuck together in small rooms and working different shifts soon learn to distinguish which alarms belong to them. On the permanent cots against the left wall, I see Jandi and Janti, brother and sister twins from the Hili system. They are another variant of humanoid, distinguished from me mostly by the light green skin and the third eye above the two I'm familiar with. Scattered around me on temporary cots are a few Mandalorians who train under Bralor. The three men and one women are not yet part of his clan, but they work hard to be. Apparently their clan has become so scattered that there is no leadership left for it. Their faces remain proud even in their sleep.

_It's strange. They should be waking up with me._

I glance at the clock on the wall. 0300 hours. _I've only been asleep for three hours._

Common sense says that I should try to sleep now, but there's something buzzing in me that makes sleep an unlikely event. From the trunk under my bed, I grab a simple brown shirt and pull it over the dark brown pants I wore to bed. Getting up, I wonder whether I should go to Atris' room.

_Not fair to her, though. She gets too little sleep as it is._

We've spent as much time together as I can manage given the busy schedule of managing the fleets affairs. Sometimes we talked over meals, each of us filling each other on the days events, and me seeking advice where secrecy wasn't an issue. Other times, we walked in near silence along the ships walls, taking in the beautiful views from the occasional recreational rooms and just enjoying being together. We never talk about the collar around her neck, or the ones that the collar protects her, and me, from. We both know how precious and our fragile our time together is.

Sighing, I palm the small panel by the doors side, which opens slow and silent in respect for those sleeping within. The corridor outside, bare, metallic, and purely functional, is empty and will only get busier when the shifts change. The floor in this section is covered with a padded rug of some sort, a dull gray like the walls and just thick enough to dull the sounds of restless wanderers like myself.

I pick a direction at random, and start walking, my attention focused inwards, trying to find what is keeping me awake. There, after a while, I feel a slight tug, a beckoning really. Something is calling me, so quiet that its hardly noticeable, so that no one but me is likely to feel it. And, though I try to identify its source, I can get no feel of the person or thing that is calling me.

_Should I get my lightsabres?_ Even as I think the question, my hands find them in my belt, where I must have tucked them unconsciously. My instincts were far ahead of my waking mind, something I find far from reassuring.

_Should I get some help?_

Getting help makes sense, but it doesn't feel right. I've been walking this fine line recently between doing what the others think I should do and what I feel is right. Mical and Brianna have been pushing me to complete the circle of my mothers quest, to go to the other planets where she went in her journey. Visas says very little, but I sense her agreement and Atton spends most of his time at the window when the subject comes up, lost in his head counting Pazaak cards or envisioning strategies for a new game he's discovered.

_No, this moment is mine, whatever the possible outcome._

I move forward quietly, my unclad feet keep my passage almost soundless as I transition from the rug to the cold, metal floor worn by the continual traffic in the busier sections of the ship. My stealthy path is mirrored by the ships silence, unusual in a military one such as this, always ready for battle with fresh shifts. I run across no one as I follow the pull, which grows slowly colder, more insistent, and surprisingly tinged with an almost familiar longing. The only echoes of activity are always out of sight, their presence in senses and Force somehow behind muffled behind a thick shroud of power that surrounds me. It's aware of me, part of the other, strange and familiar. It's becoming part of me too even as it conceals me from others, and I feel like I will be able to replicate it. Whatever is calling me is teaching me too, in the most intimate way.

As the journey continues, I lose track of the path, the shroud pulling me along corridors and down vertical, maintenance shafts that allow transit between floors, avoiding the busier and confined elevators.

And then I've arrived, or at least reached the final threshold, a dusty, tarnished door in an abandoned corridor. Perhaps only a few minutes have passed in my journey here, or perhaps an hour or more. Time feels like it is stretching, the time I know becoming a speck of nothing compared to the age of whatever is beyond the door. Even the dust, tarnished metal, and other signs of neglect here, which I have seen nowhere else on this ship, seem transient.

I take a final step towards the door, which doesn't open as it should. I sense that this is the final choice, that the one inside is waiting for me to open it, risking the power inside, or to walk away. The choice is easy, despite the darkness within. I push the doors apart gently, using my hands though my power wants to be used. Simplicity feels right to me.

Inside, the first thing I see is a wide window open into space, the stars countless and bright compared to the unlit darkness of the room. The second thing I see is the shadow, the gap in the endless sweep of lights, man-tall, straight near the right side of the window. Body and power fill the side of the window, the man within as much power as flesh. He does not react to my entrance, and he is completely aware of me.

My mind flicks back to the memories I stole from those that had sought to assassinate me on Dantooine, comparing the power before me to those who control the Republic from the shadows. The power I sensed in them was far more subtle, I think, hiding itself naturally even as it influences the fates of trillions of people. This presence before me now, I feel its satisfaction at being unfurled, revealed, and that it's hiding is one born not of its nature but of hard-earned patience and enduring. For all its darkness and hunger, within its core I also sense the echoes of almost forgotten playfulness and light, and of more recent pain and longing. He's like a simple gem, made of two, bold faces, each fractured, broken yet beautiful. One face is of light, the other of hunger and pain, and the true soul is somewhere where light and darkness meet, separate and yet not fragmented. He is a person and a power. And from him, a sense three strong ties. One is dead, with only pain where it touches the man. The other is still connected, to what I don't know, and yet the life within it comes only from him, at least as far as I can tell. The other, it is barely there, so thin and still I don't know if this man knows of its existence, so quiet is it compared to the other two. I think the only reason I can sense it is that it leads, through a wending, undirected way, to me.

And where it touches me, it is like a rushing stream, tossing me head over heels, tearing away at my bearings. Whatever he is, here and now he is stirring something within me, speaking to something inside me that I didn't know I had and needs too unknown and too long unfulfilled for me to name. He is like a siren call, beautiful and perilous. And he feels familiar several times over.

_Is this how one falls to the dark side, what Malak touched when he turned Bastila?_

"No," the being speaks, his voice rough, rumbling like stones rubbing against one another as they tumble down a hill. Behind that one word, I sense both certainty and puzzlement.

I start a little when the door hisses shut behind me. Taking a deep breath, I walk towards the figure. He's tall, at least two hands taller than I, and his head is without hair. He wears a simple gray shirt and loose pants, which cover skin almost of the same colour, above which I almost see a small layer of something very fine, like dust. He is well-muscled, trim, and it is hard to determine his physical age. Inside of him, I sense old and new powers tightly controlled by a hard-won discipline backed up by a deep sadness and determination. Each of these bindings is so new and fragile compared to what they contain, but together they are of equal intensity. And, finally, flitting around all these parts, a smile that doesn't reach his face and some kind of distant, yet powerful affection for me.

"You are a sensitive one," he says, turning to me. Though each eye is brown, the left is warm, filled with life and the other more like the dry dust of drought, halfway between Dantooine and Tatooine. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," he continues, "given where you came from."

"What do you mean? Do you mean my mother or Revan and Bastila?"

"I suppose the answer to that one is both, though I had meant your mother."

"Did you know her?"

"So quickly to that question," he smiles briefly. "I had planned to delay it for at least a few minutes... though I've never been one who found much pleasure in plotting each move.

He takes a deep, quiet breath. "Did I know her?" This time, he does smile, the feeling of him turning surprisingly wistful. "I've been asking that for days, knowing that you would ask that question. What I want to say is that I knew her better than I knew myself. We have both damned and saved each other and I have been her friend, her enemy, and once something more. But do I know her now?" He takes another deep breath, letting it out slowly, turning his head back to the window. I sense his soul stretching out to the stars, searching.

His voice is softer as he continues, that voice that only comes when one reflects on something treasured and uncertain. "That's the question that haunts me. Our recent paths have been separate and painful and harsh and I have become something that is so strange and different to what I was before. I am cautious where I used to be bold and shadowed where I was once full of light. I speak in riddles and the plain talk of before is lost to me. I think about things, about everything, and I doubt myself and everything else now as I never did before."

Then he chuckles, turns a little towards me, just enough for me to see the corner of his mouth lift again. "I'm even a bit shorter than I used to be and I don't know where all my pieces are."

And for that small, genuine smile, I thank him silently, because my head is spinning with this sudden, intense conversation that touches the deepest parts of me.

Maybe its affecting him too, I think, because he shakes his head slightly as he turns to gaze outwards again. "Toxel, how can I say I know her now when I'm not sure I know myself? How can she be someone I know when her path has taken her somewhere so different?" Again, he pauses, longer this time, and I can sense his mind rummaging through history, sense also the jumbled piece-meal, patched-together nature of it.

"I used to be a simple man," he says finally, "who knew what he wanted and who his friends were and I guess that part of me hasn't changed much but well... I've seen a bit too much and paid prices for my loyalty that no person should bear and I still carry the shadows of my choices though I left the conflict ten years ago. And your mother, she has been betrayed..." His voice trails off, then grows stronger again. "Can even betrayal cover what was done to her and the burden she carries? How can I claim to know who she is now?" He lapses into silence, leaving me to study him.

_Is this Sion, or some new version of him?_ But then there was no Sion in my mothers early life. "It doesn't sound like your path has been any easier."

His silence continues, and as I wait I learn more about him. I see that he is right, that he is not all there. Instead, somehow this man is made of pieces from outside and in and that he is both smaller than he used to be and so much more. And he is made of both life and death and a piece of what what is my mother too.

I latch onto the words he finally speaks, though it takes me a moment to remember what question he is answering.

"Maybe maybe you're right, he says, wistfully, "I have never thought to compare them." A short pause. "And yet, there is one choice that separates us: I betrayed her once and she always stayed true, even when I stood across from her, ready to kill."

"Who are you?"

"I am what is in front of you. If you are looking for a name, I have left all those behind."

"Sion," I say it to try it out, to see if it fits, to see if he'll react. And it does fit for all that he doesn't react, and it doesn't fit, just as he said it wouldn't. He has the pain of Sion, and the patched-pieces feel of Sion, but he is more than Sion ever was.

"You were Sion," I say.

"Yes, I was that, and more as you shall discover soon, but that is not the question you should be asking."

"Why are you here? And why am I?"

'Yes," he smiles, turning to face me, in his eyes a mischievous glint. "This conversation requires something to lighten the mood," he says indicating a dusty table to our left, on its top a bottle of Dantooine Flash Fire and four glasses. "And some company," he continues, opening the door with a flick of his mind. On the other side is Atris and a man of shadows. She looks like she has just woken up, her white hair jumbled together roughly behind her, bound by a black ribbon, her sleeping clothes, long white shirt and pants, ruffled, her eyes more than a little confused. The man at her side slips out of sight before I can truly bristle at his hand on her arm, the ripples of his stealth field there for a moment before he disappears, the afterthought of his soul one of guarded light, its focus turned inward towards his own dark history.

"Come in, lady," says the one who summoned me, pulling out a seat at the table. "I'm sorry I could not deliver the invitation myself, but I did not want to stir the formidable group of powers on this ship and it is easier to hide at a distance."

Atris looks at me and I shrug. Then she looks at him, and he smiles at her as he continues to hold the chair, a roguish glint now in his eye, one strangely familiar but not of the Sion I had seen.

Atris straightens her back and walks forward, taking the seat that the man proffers. Once she is tucked in, I ask, "And the fourth seat?"

"Ah, she should be nearby if I still know her well." He looks around, then walks across the windows, pauses again, then moves quickly to the far corner, there extending his hand towards the dark shadows.

Visas walks out of nothing, the last shimmering remains of her stealth generator washing off her body as she takes his hand, her face and mind still as untouched water. She's dressed in a dark red set of shirt and pants, light and airy and still half-rumpled. Together, they walk to our table, taking the seat to the right of Atris. He and I take the other two.

"Be careful how much you drink," he says, pouring the liquor into our glasses. Then he sighs dramatically. "I suppose I should have brought some food. It's something I keep forgetting about, even after all these years."

"How does one forget food," Atris asks, her chin resting in her hands, her voice polite and distant. She's firmly composed now, at least on the outside, her eyes and face revealing nothing and the Force collar obscuring everything within.

"When one doesn't need it," he says, winking. And then the smile slips, just a little, his eyes turning distant. "I have learned to live on other things.

"And yet you eat it," she says again, half question half statement.

"It helps keep me remember when and where I am, I suppose. Otherwise I tend to lose track of time and other things."

"So you do need it" she smiles, as beautiful and as sharp as glass.

His full smiles, and nods to her. "Yes, I suppose I do."

"Well, I'm afraid that I won't do well drinking this without some food in me. As it happens, I've memorized the layout of this ship, since I've not had much else to do for a while. Two rooms down from here, there are some rations stored for important visitors." Atris rises from her seat, then says, "With your permission, of course."

His smile has grown broad as she was talking. "I would like that."

He watches her walk out then turns to me, shaking his head. "What a lady. She has changed much, I think, and mostly for the better."

"Her path has been hard too," I say, keeping my mind guarded. Atris would not appreciate her privacy being breached.

"Yes, I know. I have kept an eye on her since she summoned our attention." He pauses, his eyes searching me. "Though, from what you hide, it's likely I don't know the half of it." He looks away, towards where I feel Atris is, then to Visas' still face. She is wrapped in nothingness, everything about her masked. It's only Sion's gaze now that reminds me she is there.

"What a terrible war it has been," he continues. "If only..." I sense a moment of revelation withheld, its content splintering again, each part running back to segment within the man where it was stored.

He shakes his head slowly back and forth. "If only..." he drifts off again. The pause is interrupted by the hissing door as Atris enters, her hands filled with to my surprise, cheese and bread.

She looks at me, then Sion and Visas, then back to me, an unasked question blossoming in her eyes.

"We are talking of pain," Sion says.

Her gaze snaps to his. "You are Sion," she says, her voice quavering, and within the buzzing field of her force collar I feel her power struggle, trying to gather, and failing.

"I was," he nods. Atris looks at me, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, and I nod.

"And I was more." And then he opens his shields, just for a moment, and a hunger stirs within him, awesome and yet lost too, fractured like he is. And beside it, something else, dark and focused despising stillness, seeking to grow and spread coupled with an endless determination to survive. The hunger is a piece of what is in my mother, and a link to her, the second I sensed within him. The darkness, on the other hand... Where the hunger my mother contains is an accident, born of the truly alien nature of Al'keh, this second force within him was mothered in the deepest dark recesses of the Force. It is less familiar, but I have felt it before. I just don't recognize it.

"Darth Nihlus," Visas whispers, her face completely stripped of colour.

"I was that too," his quiet voice matching the now thunderous silence left by the closing of his shields.

"How," Atris asks.

"Darth Nihlus," Visas says slowly, her eyes still glued to Sion-Nihlus, the mazes that are her shields thickening, "was always more power than man."

Again, there is silence, the women's gaze fixed on the man who has summoned us here, my gaze travelling across all three faces.

"It's easy to forget," Atris says finally, turning her head to me, "how much of this story has been untold. Everyone involved had reasons to keep silent, I suppose."

"Or they are dead," Visas says, softly.

"Or were hidden," Sion adds.

"How can you be both?" I ask, remembering the dark Sith who had been Visas' master before she fled to my mother seeking oblivion, in its truest sense.

"That is a story about which you have more insight than these two, I think," he says, his face like stone now, his spirit sad, and determined. "After all, have you not encountered one who was split before?"

"Malak," I whisper, or something whispers through me. And that name fits him too, and yet doesn't. I think he's right, how does one name such a being?

"I knew Malak," Atris says slowly, her voice dry, "and you are somewhat shorter than he was and far too serious."

"I agree, but you are not the same woman I flirted with, little dove. I think you have changed as much as I... though you had a lot less humour to lose," he smiles.

"I didn't die," Atris retorts sharply, standing up. Her eyes clear and sharp, turning cold, the power within her again stirring again, struggling against the collar.

I put my hand on her arm. "It is him," I say.

"And that's supposed to make me feel better, Toxel," she says, her eyes wide, the light in them flaring and dimming. "He 'died' in the destruction of the Star Forge. Its destruction was quite thorough and nothing remains of it that is larger than my fist. Those remains are still guarded and no ship has ever entered or left the area since Malak was defeated."

"My mother died, and yet you and I look for her now."

"She was not blown into little bits," Atris retorts instantly, then pauses. She studies him, her calm suddenly returning, a mask settling quickly into place as if it had never left. Then she looks at Visas. The Miraluka is silent, her face contemplative, her mind still hidden behind illusions and shields, though I sense dark shadows stir at their edges.

"How," I ask him, pulling Atris gently back down into the chair, placing my hand on hers, which is as icy cold as her eyes. "And what should we call you?"

"Call me?" His laughter is like a short bark. "I haven't worried about that for ten years." He scratches some of the scars on the top of his head. "I guess 'Malak' will do," he sighs. "Everything else seems too dramatic and Malak is the only one that would seek out Xi Lan."

"And your... miraculous recovery," Atris prods gently.

Malak takes a deep breath. "A story for a story," he says to the women. "I will tell you mine when you tell him what he needs to know. I will speak of my death and rebirth, and of Malachor V, but you must tell him of what Kreia did to you and to Xi Lan."

"I do not agree," Visas says calmly, even as Atris says, "I cannot," her words bleak and barren.

Malak considers Visas, then Atris. He stands, leans over towards Atris and lifts his index finger. Suddenly, he cuts downwards with it and Atris' Force collar springs open with a snick as if cut. As her hands go up to her neck, her mouth open, her eyes panicked, the same finger cuts sideways as if cutting her head off. Atris takes a deep breath, as if she's suddenly able to breathe and the panic in her eyes shifts quickly to questioning wonder.

"You can now," Malak-Sion says simply as he sits down.

It is Atris' turn to ask,"How?"

"A story for a story," he smiles.

Her eyes search inwards, searching for what I'm not sure, her attention flitting around the edges of her mind and then deeper to places I cannot sense. Visas looks on silently, her face unreadable.

"Is it permanent," Atris asks.

"As long as you don't let them inside again, yes, it should be."

She turns to look at me, a slow, tentative smile melting edges on her face that even I hadn't realized were there. "Yes, I will tell a story," she says softly.

"Thank you," Malak says, nodding at her, and then turning his gaze to Visas.

"I will not," she says, her voice distant, bleak. "The journey is important."

"Toxel here has been to as many places as you and knows far more about what resides within his mother and me than you or anyone on any planet you would choose to send him to."

"He needs to experience it. He has the means of being in the experience," Visas says, "which grows more powerful when he is near the location."

"I don't believe that is true," I respond. Her point is an old one in our debates about how I should proceed. A few others have possessed my ability in the past apparently, and what she says has been true for them. But mine has never felt that way. "I can see it just as well-"

"There are patterns to the universe that must be followed if-" Visas interrupts, but then she is interrupted as well.

"You learned about patterns from Xi Lan, Visas," Malak says. "Now tell me, as one who knows her and her desperate search for a son she didn't know she had... would she want her son to be the focal point of a new war just as she was?"

Visas says nothing. The silence around her is absolute, but there is a pressure to it, as if something is contained within, but not for much longer.

Stop thinking, Miraluka," Malak growls, "and remember what you are. _Look at him._"

Suddenly, anger flares on her face. Like a banked coal that explodes into heat, she stands and shouts at him, "You have no right to speak of my people or my _way. _I would kill you if I could and the Force would rejoice!"

Malak takes a deep, long breath, his face sad, his eyes never leaving Visas' face. "You are right," he says slowly, "for no excuse or reason can ever take away what was done to your people." He takes another deep breath. "And yet, here I am, a patchwork quilt of impossible pieces that should not be able to co-exist... and I will bring Toxel's mother back and I will not start another war doing it."

"There will be no war if-" Visas snaps, but Atris interrupts her, her voice quiet, but heavy with a certainty that cannot be ignored.

"There already is one. It started the moment I saw him," she gestures at Malak. Turning to Visas, she continues, "You and the remaining Jedi are not a direct threat to them, but they mobilized a fleet to stop Toxel from reaching his mother. And while she has power, she has never been inclined to use it. But, you," she turns to Malak, "know about them and have a power whose limits are unknown. They will chase you until the end of time."

"Are you sure they have seen me," Malak asks Atris after a long pause. "Could their power work through the Force collar? I have cut all the ties between you and any outside this room and I have stripped the compulsions from those Tilaxi tattoos on your back."

"All the Force ties, perhaps, but even that I doubt. They have the subtlety of two empires or more. But even if that is true, there are electronic monitoring systems wired directly into my left eye. I had turned them off but they are programmed to turn on automatically should I be disconnected from the Force. I'm sorry," she turns to me, glancing also at Visas, "but I had no way of telling you before. Their compulsions are strong."

Visas' lips tighten together, and she turns her head to the right, away from all of us. "Then you should leave, 'Malak,'" she says coldly.

"No," I say, surprising myself the weight of that word. "Xi Lan... I won't do that to her-"

"She thinks he is dead," Visas say, her voice jagged. "Would you have her see him like this? Would you have her know who she fought and _what he did to my people_?"

"She knows this incarnation of mine," Malak says, his voice without inflection`. "She helped me put my pieces back together again."

Visas' lips tighten again, but she doesn't respond.

"And now," Malak straightens up in his chair. "we must leave at once."

"I am in command of this fleet," Visas says quietly, "and I am loathe to trust this puppet's words and even more so to do anything you would have me do."

"I do not sense any deception from Atris," I say, keeping my words gentle.

"Nor I," adds the scarred man, "but that will not convince you, I suppose. Not even your own senses will. Luckily, I do not need your permission."

Suddenly, the ship begins to turn. Visas opens her mouth, but no words come out and I feel a flick of the scarred man's power destroy the small communicator hidden in her sleeve before she can touch it. A wider net of his power snuffs out the Force cry she sends out next, even as the stars in the window suddenly lengthen as we enter hyperspace.

"The others will stop you," Visas says, her face now set in stone again.

"The time for subtlety is passed," he says, his voice flat and firm. He pauses, his eyes flicking to Atris and I before returning to Visas. Sighing, he continues, "You do not understand how much Toxel knows already, little Seer, and I suppose that is my fault. I twisted your vision and your wisdom until you forgot what you really are. I made you think when before you knew. Now, trust yourself and _know_ Toxel here."

"I do not trust you, destroyer," she says, her voice flat, desolate.

"Yes, but you do not trust yourself even more. That was the intention of that part of me. It was a trick I learned from Darth Traya."

Again, Visas turns her gaze away, her normally full lips pinched.

He turns to me. "Think, Toxel, of what you have seen through Visas' eyes. Don't explain it, just hold it in your mind and see it."

I look at Visas and she says nothing. Atris' expression is noncommittal as well. I take a deep breath, and think back on what I've seen through Visas' unique Force senses. I remember, after a few moments, how she saw those who shared the Ebon Hawk with her, the vivid imagery and insights that came with it. Brianna, who had been an image of ice being short through with light, melting slowly into something that was uniquely herself. Bao-Dur and his dedication wrapped around a foul, smelling bog of self-loathing and guilt. And the essence of the others on the Ebon Hawk at that time, each seen through Visas' unique senses. Senses that I learned, just a little, from seeing the world through her eyes.

Holding them in my mind, I try to imagine projecting them at Visas' with my mind, placing them at the edge of her mind.

She says nothing, does nothing to acknowledge that she sees what I am trying to show her, but something within her stirs, something _unfolds_.

"I see nothing different," she says. "This is how I see the world now."

"Exactly," he who was Malak says. "And that should tell you two things. You use words with one who can see the world as you do. That is one way that I changed you. And second, Toxel here understands how you see. He knows what was done to you and how you fled the hunger I unleashed on your people. He has lived through the Mandalorian wars first hand, and seen the moment where Revan and I betrayed his mother and she had to take in Al'keh. He has seen the worst and the best of all of us through the eyes of many... He will gain nothing more from visiting those planets than war. It's time to reunite mother and son."

"He needs to be a symbol of hope and power," Visas says to the far wall, "if he's going to lead these people. Everyone is taking a big risk-"

"If they want to leave, let them," he growls. "We don't need them!"

"We?" Atris interjects, the polite curiosity in her voice somehow cutting through the growing tension.

"We," he says softly, his shoulders slumping a little. "There is no place in this part of the galaxy for ones such as your mother and I, especially in this _Republic_," he spits the word, "that wants to forget about the war and its atrocities and its victims. The only way for me to stay is to take over and I do not want to fight anymore. I am tired of plots, battles, hatred, and... death."

"I understand... but we will have to deal with my former colleagues one way or another, it seems," Atris predicts, "and the Republic fleets. And the resources of the Genoharden and the much more subtle force powers that they can bring to bear."

"The Genoharden?" I ask.

"An ancient group that lurks behind every power in the galaxy," he who was Malak says. "Is that what your group is?"

"An arm which serves the head," Atris says. "My compatriots lead the Genoharden and dozens of other organizations both in and out of the shadow. And don't ask me who they are. The only person I have met was well concealed physically and in the Force. I only know by their marks on me and nameless voices in my head, I've got some nano-size machinery in my head that enables communication, and which can't be removed without destroying it and killing me. And it is far beyond our technology and can't be tracked."

The room fills with silence. It's like the size and silence of the galaxy outside is coming into our small room. Against what we face, I feel very small.

"We need each other, Visas," I say after a while. "We need Malak and we need Atris and all the others we have. The more we are, the more likely there will be someone who can see what we cannot and who understands our pain and our longings in their bones as we do. If we try to do this alone, then we will lose, as we always have."

She is silent for a long time, her face still turned away and her shields like a fog to get lost in, but as time passes, I can hear, barely, small cries at the edge of her mind, then glimmers of colours that to swirl around one another in a frenzy behind the fog. And it's like a wave of sensation is building within her, less and less contained by her power, something that has to come out. And then it does.

It is an avalanche of fear, loss, despair, and death that pours out of here, filling every sense we have - taste, smell, visual, hearing, feeling - and others we didn't know we have. Atris and I reel back, pushed aside casually as bystanders by the torrent Visas directs at Malak, a world-sized set of sensations and memories from the time her planet and people died.

Malak hunches over as the torrent hits him, curling into a tighter and tighter ball as the full weight of what she unleashes crashes into him. I expect him to be swept away, to be crushed or destroyed by it, but he takes it all in, absorbing every moment, every sensation until there is no more.

Visas and Malak remain frozen in place, her face a rictus of hate and despair unseen by his bowed form. Finally, moving like an old man, he unfolds, his face tracked by tears, like little streams that darken parched soil. Slowly, he brings his gaze up towards her, his face stripped of all emotions save sorrow.

"I will not work with you, destroyer," she spits out.

He says nothing, just watches her.

"There," she says after a moment, her smile vicious, "was my story."

He nods, then reaches with his right to his right shoulder. His nails dig into the scars surrounding one patch of skin there, which stands higher than the surrounding flesh. With a snarl, he rips it off. As he considers it, the raw wound in his shoulder starts to heal, incredibly fast, the flesh turning pink, then grey almost before I can blink.

"A story for a story," he says simply, his voice rough, cracking, as if he's screamed it out. "I will tell you of my birth, as best I can with words, while Toxel learns of me more directly." And then he holds out the skin to me.

I take it, and something washes over me instantly, a memory ancient unlike anything I have ever felt before. As it sweeps me into itself, I hear Malak begin to speak, his voice distant, as if the stars were a vast chamber in which his voice echoed.

"Long before I was Malak, Sion, or Nihlus, I rode the currents of the galaxy and carried the stars within me. I was the Traveller, one with all and the pieces of the many. I was free until I met your puny empires and it was they that taught me about slavery, pain, and death, when my curiosity let them capture me, and make of me the Star Forge..."


End file.
